In Loco Parentis
by Inks Inc
Summary: "Family's more than just DNA. It's about... people who care and take care of each other." Warning: Spanking. (Now Complete)
1. On My Own

Staring at the flickering computer screen, Tony chewed his lip worriedly. His gut churned with the now near constant feeling of unease that had been dogging him for days. Shooting a side long glance at McGee and Ziva, he was satisfied that their attention was fully focussed away from him. Swivelling in his chair nonetheless, he blocked any outside view of his monitor with his with the mouse he took another furtive glance around, glad Gibbs was on a coffee run and clicked on the link in the mysterious email. Turning down the sound on his computer as a precaution, he waited with impatience for the video the link provided to buffer. When it eventually began to play, he instantly wished it kept on buffering.

Forever.

Staring at the video, his mouth ran dry, and his heart began to beat a merry dance against his protesting rib cage. The bright lights and the glaring orange walls of the bull pen he was so accustomed to, seemed to dance eerily before his eyes, like he was on some kind of bad acid trip. This couldn't be happening. Using a shaking hand, he guided the mouse over the replay button and hesitantly clicked. Like a child looking a test paper grade for the second time, hoping for some kind of miraculous change of events. His short lived hopes were dashed as the video rolled into action once more, petulantly replaying the same scenario that had caused his ears to ring with the first viewing.

His breath caught in his chest. This was really happening. Fighting the overwhelming urge to disintegrate, to fall apart with no concern for what came next, he forced himself to breathe. No one could know what was happening… which would be fine for most people. Most people not being surrounded by one of the most specialised federal teams in the country that is. Hearing the elevator ping, he schooled his features into well practiced nonchalance. The frat boy routine that he had nailed down a T. As Gibbs passed by his desk he flashed a winning, toothy smile and continued working on his case report.

The email having been carefully tucked away.

Gibbs himself, threw his body into his chair and looked over at his senior agent with a slight frown adorning his face. What was with the sudden frat boy routine? When he'd left, Tony had been…Tony. In the thirty or so minutes he'd been gone, he'd come back and the kid was flashing that "everything's fine over here" smile that he'd long since sussed. Sussed as being "everything's _not_ fine over here." Filing away the anomaly, he reluctantly plucked a case off the teetering load on his own desk and set to work, wondering idly did it make him a bad person to wish for a new case to come through. His wishes, which were still undecided as being natural or sinful, were not answered.

Hours trickled past, and the four agents grew steadily restless and steadily fed up with report after report. Gibbs, who was perhaps the worst offender of office escapism, fled the squad room to check on Abby when he feared not only for his own safety, but the safety of those around him. Well to be fair, Ziva and Tim only… who were driving him insane with the secret online game they were competing on against each other, both foolishly secure in the false knowledge that he was _totally_ clueless. Tony on the other hand…was on his best behaviour. Berating himself as he leant against the cool wall of the elevator for jumping to conclusions and ulterior motives for his senior agent's faultless behaviour, he sighed.

Maybe he…maybe he was just tired.

He spent a few minutes chatting to his favourite scientist, and removing the impromptu experiment she was working on, with a raised brow. His lecture that her lab was not for her own amusement seemed to fall on deaf ears, but with the simple gesture towards her stereo he obtained a clad iron promise to quit the goofing off. Meandering back to the bull pen, he concluded that he wasn't a bad person for wishing for an active case. If he had to sit in that squad room for another week doing paper work, _someone_ was going to die. Striding past DiNozzo's desk, his briefly forgotten concerns were brought straight back to the surface when he spied a look of consternation on the kid's face, until he rounded the corner, and the dazzling smile was back in full force.

Ok, something was definitely up.

Reaching over, he tugged a file off his desk and mooched over to his senior agent's station, perching on the side of the cluttered top. He frowned when Tony looked fit to pass out at the impromptu visit. Pushing the file into his hands, he asked a pointless question about it and watched carefully as Tony's eyes scanned the paper. They were slightly bloodshot, and his hands weren't exactly steady as he held the file. His eyes narrowed when the kid answered the question with an obvious attempt at confident offhandedness. Nodding, he took a sip of his coffee and accepted the proffered file. "Everything ok with you Tony?" he asked quietly, dropping his voice so not to be overheard.

The green eyes widened in poorly concealed surprise, and the fervent nodding of the tousled head was a fraction too delayed to be believable. Gibbs frowned. Crossing his arms, he eyed the kid with a mixture of firmness and gentleness. "You sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" An extremely mild gulping sound could be heard as Tony shook his head immediately."No boss…I'm good. Just a bit tired is all." He gestured weakly to the files on his desk, "paperwork's not really my thing." Racking a practised gaze over his longest serving agent, Gibbs decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt.

"Ok," he conceded quietly, "but you know where I am if you need anything, yes?"

That smile flashed back at him.

"Yes boss."

Feeling torn between knowing he was right and there was something wrong with Tony, and concerns that he was becoming completely paranoid, Gibbs nodded and made his way back to his own desk.

The day trickled by, and after about thirteen sneaked glances at his senior field agent, the team leader was edging closer and closer to the opinion that he was getting positively cynical in his old age. Throwing his final file down with a grateful sigh, he called out to wrap it up. There was all but a stampede for the exit before the last word left his mouth, and he couldn't help but laugh. Gathering up his own things, he gratefully set off home, his thoughts turned firmly on that annoying part of his boat that just refused to sand down to his standards of perfection. Out in the lot, Tony was immediately but convincingly assured Tim and Ziva that he had other plans tonight, and therefore couldn't possible blow off a beautiful lady to go to the movies with them and Abby.

Watching them clamber into their respective cars, he felt a pang. Going to the movies felt like something you did in another lifetime to him now. It had only been five days….but he felt like he had aged a solid twenty years since this nightmare started with a vengeance. Throwing himself into his own car, he felt for his cell to make sure it was within immediate reach. Turning the key in the ignition, his blood ran cold at the thoughts of the expected call. Though he'd never dream of admitting it out loud…he was afraid. Very afraid. And the one person he could count on to help him, the one person he wanted to tell more than anyone else on the face of the earth…was off limits.

Getting Gibbs involved would put him in untold danger, and there was just no way that was going to happen. Steering his car through the DC rush hour traffic, he had never felt so alone. Isolated. A heavy grimace spread across his face as he realised that was… _their_ intention. Divide and conquer and all that. Simple, yet ingenious. All too soon he found himself in front of his apartment complex. Quietening the engine, he leant back in his seat and ran a wearied hand over his face and let out a long suffering sigh. Briefly wondering if he would be able to keep down his dinner tonight, he made to grab his coat and head on in.

The cell shrilled. He froze, with his hand on the driver's door, staring at the slight bulge in his pocket. He might as well have had a live grenade in there for all intents and purposes. Closing his eyes, he bit his lip and fished the offending device out of his pocket, praying that maybe…maybe it was just McGee or something. Quickly digesting the number flashing across the LED, he felt the steering wheel swoon in and out of his focus. It was them. When the sixth ring roared from the phone, he bit the bullet. With a shaking hand he punched the accept button, and held the cell up to his ear like a loaded gun. He didn't need to answer verbally. The cold voice on the other end sailed through the receiver and he listened with a mixture of raw repulsion and rapt attentiveness.

For three and a half minutes he sat, he breathed, barely. The monotone on the other end of the line didn't waver, didn't stutter over it's cruel instructions or its brutal demands. The cold sweat that clung to his forehead was the only thing that he could feel attaching him to any sense of physical reality. And then, it was gone. The sharp click on the other side of the call sounded as violently as wildfire in the small confines of his car. A few minutes passed before his muscles began protesting at his stiff and stationary position. Shaking his head weakly, he fumbled his way out of the car with more effort that could be deemed dignified for a young and fit federal agent. Collapsing on his sofa a few moments later, he stared up at the ceiling blankly.

His mind was performing that strange function, where it seemed to be whirring through a million thoughts but concurrently felt as empty and weightless as a paper cup. Rolling onto his side, he chewed his lip. He had no choice. He would have to go through with it. He would either wind up dead, or be branded a traitor. There was no other way, it had to be this way. He had to do it. Alone. Tonight. Five hours later and a considerable distance away, saw Gibbs standing back to admire his handiwork. The hull was now a thing of beauty. Reaching for a celebratory bourbon, he sighed when his cell bleeped in his pocket. So close. Fishing it out, he swallowed down his irritation when he saw the caller ID. Feeling a bit bad for the way he'd been suspicious of the kid, he used a softer tone than usual when he flipped open the phone. "Hey Tony, what's up?" There was a dead silence on the other end. "Tony?" The throaty chuckle that wafted into his ear made the hair on the back of his head stand.

"No Jethro… _not_ Tony…try again old friend."

….

TBC

….

….

A/N: So I wasn't going to write another NCIS story for a while, but after a binge on earlier seasons…here we go again!

…


	2. Pretending He's Beside Me

"Staring directly ahead, but seeing absolutely nothing, Gibbs felt his heart still instantaneously in his chest. Clutching his cell in a now clammy, sweaty palm he battled with himself to remain calm. Every fibre in his body, born both of instinct and experience, was screaming at him that this was no prank. This was definitely no prank. Remembering with great difficulty that it is to sign your own death warrant to show fear to the people he instinctively knew were holding his agent, he took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," he drawled, with a fake confidence that was Oscar worthy, "I don't believe we've met?" Racking his brains frantically, he cursed his surroundings. There was no way he could get upstairs to use the landline to get McGee tracking this call without the crooner on the other end hearing.

"The same deep chuckle that sailed through the phone set the hair on his forearms on edge, in symmetry with their neck based counterparts. It was a woman's voice, he realised with a jarring jolt. Feeling his eyebrows contract in despair, he took another breath. The list of women he had pissed off through the years was no shopping list. Running a hand through his hair, he just couldn't think of anyone that would be so enraged as to kidnap his elder boy. "No…we have not met Agent Gibbs," the voice eventually explained with a callous laughter in its tone, accompanied with an accented twang, "but…you did know my father." Gibbs leant against his boat, and tried to keep down the feelings of almost acidic fear that threatened to overwhelm him. "Your father?" he replied cockily, "what, were we lovers or something?" There was no chuckle at these words, he had knocked her off her game. As was his intent.

"You think that this is a game Agent Gibbs?" the female caller hissed, "…you think your precious little Anthony coming home to you in a dozen pieces would be funny?" There were few words that could shock a seasoned Marine, and even fewer that could shock LJ Gibbs, but shocked he was. Biting viciously down on his lip, he screamed at himself to act like an Agent. It was his only hope. "How do I even know you've got Agent DiNozzo?" he answered calmly, almost pleasantly. Whilst all the while feeling the tickling of putrid vomit at the bottom of his windpipe. Never admit a personal relationship in this scenario. That had been drummed into him in the Corps, and then later on in the early days of NIS. If this heathen thought he cared for Tony even a fraction as much as he did, he would be handing her a loaded weapon. The disdainful laughing was back. "Oh Agent Gibbs, you wound me," the mysterious voice scoffed humorously, "you really think I don't know all about how much you care about your little puppies?"

He barely had time to feel additional searing despair, before more torment poured through the receiver. "We chose your little protégé here because he seemed to be the most obvious candidate stupid enough to put his life on the line for you, but," the voice paused, as if deep in thought, "…your odd scientist girl is an equally good option, should Anthony here not live up to his…potential." If ever Gibbs was going to pass the hell out, it was now. Abandoning the mildly disinterested boss approach, he ground his teeth. "You touch a hair on his head, you lay a filthy hand on many of them…and I will kill you, and all belonging to you." There was a silence on the other end of the line, and the weight of it threatened to burst Gibbs' eardrums as his heart performed like a battering ram against his rib cage. He knew he had to keep this whack job on the call for as long as possible, to gain as much information as possible, but every instinct in his body was screaming for him to launch himself into his car and find her. Find…him. Fear threatened to overwhelm him once more as he thought of Tony being held captive by this person or persons, for reasons not yet clear to him.

"The image of the defensive smile a mere few hours ago appeared in his peripheral vision. He should have known. He did know. And he did nothing. The voice was back. "Are you ready to listen to me now Agent Gibbs?" The croaked out "yes" bore none of his usual federal demeanour, he sounded more like the parents he schooled through ransom calls, becoming agitated when they didn't stick to the script. How could they. "You are aware of the gentrification projects down town?" He frowned. "Yes," he muttered, wondering how quickly he could assemble a tactical response team to storm into every dump in the all but abandoned neighbourhood. That maddening tinkering laugh pealed out once more. "No no…don't give it any more thought Jethro. I have men everywhere, places you would never dream of. They see, smell or hear one fed, SWAT, or anything or anyone with a pulse other than yours…and your adopted sprog is dead. Do you understand?"

"The walls were caving in again. "I understand," he barked, closing his eyes as the pain from his erratic heartbeat began to take over his chest. "Good," she crooned, "that's good Jethro, see how things can be when we understand each other?" He didn't answer that, refusing to play her sociopathic game any more than he had to. "Now," she snapped, and her marvelled at the many changes in her tone, she was emotional, and emotionless all at the same time. This was a personal vendetta, he was sure of it. There was no financial motivation, or belief systems propelling this madness. This woman had it out for him and she was using Tony to get to him. "You are going to get into your car. You are going to leave your house immediately, you are going to come to the specific address that will be sent to you in a moment. You are not going to inform anyone of this little chat, I will know if you do, and that wouldn't be good for your pretty boy."

She took a deep breath, whilst Gibbs wished he could choke the breath right out of her. "You are going to enter the rear entrance of the building, you are not going to be carrying a weapon. You will…see the cause of all this when you arrive. You have…" she trailed off, making a production of checking the time, "forty three minutes to get here. If you arrive here in forty three and a half minutes, your right hand man…will lose his right hand. He will continue to lose important pieces of his anatomy until either you arrive, or we move on to the next of your rescue puppies." He opened his mouth in a dazed horror, but she beat him to it. "Goodbye, Agent Gibbs…the clock is ticking, I do hope to see you soon." Holding the useless phone to his ear, rooted to the spot, Gibbs couldn't contain the putrid bile careering around his intestines any longer. Vomiting all over his boat, he ran a shaking hand over his green face. No sooner had he refocused on his surroundings, and the phone beeped again. Scooping it back up with a hatred, he quickly digested the address that flashed across the felt his chest constrict with another fierce jolt when he read the accompanying text.

"Forty one minutes, thirty five seconds, Jethro…" 

TBC


	3. All Alone

p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"His hands mutinously slipped from the steering wheel, like a recalcitrant child in a fit of uncooperativeness. The more he tried to hang on, the more the clammy residue clinging to his palms betrayed him. His eyes darted frantically from the road to the clock radio, like some sort of manic metronome. His heart was struggling under the weight of the blood surging through it, and a cold sweat dampened the soft cotton of his collar. He was nearly there, with seven and a half minutes left on the clock. Who or what he was walking into, he didn't know. He had heeded the hissing instructions not to alert his team. He couldn't risk putting Tony in anymore danger than he already was. Her callous voice reverberated around his head./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""emWe chose your little protégé here because he seemed the most obvious candidate stupid enough to put his life on the line for you…" /emHis heart skipped another beat. Had Tony volunteered for this? Had he willingly surrendered himself to this cretin, in some kind of attempt to protect emhim? /emThe bile rose up in his throat once more, his slogan of his emLoyal Saint Bernard/em burning into his subconscious. He had always taken Tony's unwavering, unshakable and unfaltering loyalty to him for granted, just another attribute of the kid that made him the person he was. Was that loyalty…to emhim/em…the reason his second in commands life hung in the balance? It didn't bear thinking about. Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, and to bring the Agent in him back to the fore, he willed himself to assess the situation with a rational mind. He felt for the knife secreted in the waistline of his jeans./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"A gun, he couldn't hide on his person, so his piece rested in his glove box. He wondered would he ever get the chance to use it. Glancing despairingly at the clock once more, he saw he had two minutes and twenty nine seconds remaining. Squealing his car into the abandoned, morose and thoroughly down trodden gentrification projects, he turned his headlights down. The gloom of his surroundings pressed in upon him, as the vehicle slowly meandered down the deserted streets. This had once been a hub of bustling activity, a home base for dock workers and their families. The same working class families that had been ousted in the name of profit. He felt their loss keenly as he mentally prepared to feel his own. He knew that the chances of both him and Tony coming out of this were slim. But, as his jaw tightened, he vowed to do all that was humanly possible that if only one of them were to emerge from this dump, it wouldn't be him./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"With three seconds left to him, he killed the engine outside his appointed destination. Looking up at the imposing, three storied shell of a home, he felt his gut churn. He wouldn't put a rat in the place, never mind his…well, Tony. His cell once again screeched in his pocket, and he fished it out immediately. His gut took another turn towards nausea-ville as he read the flashing message. "emJust in time Jethro, well done…now, no need to knock, come on in…" /emThe only thing that allowed the man to emerge from his car, into a potential firing line, was the face of his longest serving Agent in his mind's eye. Creaking open the door of his trusty saloon, he cast a snipers vision over the apparently empty streets. His senses immediately told him that there was at least two, if not three, armed and watching shooters atop of the adjacent buildings./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Squaring his shoulders, and armed with only a small blade, he spied the appointed rear entrance and walked briskly towards it, exuding a confidence he didn't feel. Pushing open the wooden door, which roared with a rusty protest, he peered cautiously into the awaiting room. It was a dimly lit, disused living room. There was no one there. Nor were there any signs, as he roved a gaze over the setting, that anyone had used the room for a very long time. The door in the far corner of the room was ajar, and he made his way cautiously to it relying on his instincts that let him know that, for now, he was alone. Edging along the wall, he took a deep breath as he reached the doorway. Lamenting the loss of his gun with more force than he could have ever believed possible, he cast an eye around the room. Seeing a forgotten ashtray, he scooped it up. Bracing himself against the wall, he took aim and the crystal sphere went sailing through the doorway./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Nothing. No shots fired. No gunfire ready to erupt at the slightest movement. Taking another deep breath, he stepped further into the unknown. A narrow hallway greeted him, again dimly lit from old fashioned wall mounted brackets, egging him forwards. Spider webs hung brazenly from every imaginable surface, and he brushed past them with impatience, his ears twitching for any signs of oncoming attack. Or…emTony's /emvoice. He had never wanted to hear the kids bouncing tones more than he did in that moment. Even if it emwas /emto tell him that he lost emall/em his reports. emAgain. /emOn he went. Keeping as close to the walls as humanly possible, he halted in front of the heavy oak door that loomed out from the semi darkness. Casting an eye around, he saw no other exits or entrances. This door was not ajar. Swallowing, he laid a gentle hand on the rusty iron handle, and lightly tested its weight. It wasn't locked. Not having any way of testing what lay beyond; he hesitated for just a fraction of a second before quickly pushing the handle down and thrusting the door open./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Nothing in his decades on the job could have prepared him for what came next. Blinking rapidly as the images from five projectors, that stood close to the peeling walls bore down on him, he felt his mouth drop open. Before it completely dried up and his throat was in dire risk of closing in on itself. His pupils dilated as the blue eyes struggled to ingest what was being portrayed in some sort of bizarre relay. Each pull up projector, propped on spindly legs, was showing the same footage at different stages. He watched in a daze as the black and white grainy film flitted across his eyes, his brain struggling under the weight of what was being shown. This couldn't be… The sweat that trickled down his back was the only thing holding him to an earthly plane. Taking a gasping breath, he leant against the nearest available wall and tried to remain as calm as he possibly he could. He watched… the dancing footage taking another chunk of his breathing ability as it played. He watched as he ducked behind the trees. He watched as he took aim. He watched as he took fire. He watched as that fire hit its target. He watched as he rolled onto his back, a mixture of repulsion, anguish and euphoria etched onto his face./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He watched as he plucked the discharged shell casing up in his hand, and he watched as he cast it back down onto the hot soil. Then the tape stilled, and he watched all over again, wanting to bolt from the room but being inexplicably rooted to the spot. It all made sense now. He emhad /emknown her father. Briefly. Briefly…because he had emmurdered /emher father. The woman…this whole damn mess…it was the Reynosa Cartel in action. It had to be. He had taken their father…their leader…and now they were taking his…well, Tony. His head spun. He winced as his chest constricted painfully from the frantic beating of his accelerated heart. How the hell was there emfootage? /emHow the hell was this emhappening? /emAs his knees began to buckle underneath him with the full force of who he was dealing with hitting him, a voice rang out in the room. Startled, he wheeled around and still found himself alone. "The door to your right. Take it, Agent Gibbs."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"His gaze instantly darted in the instructed direction. An identical heavy wooden door awaited him. Feeling a fear he hadn't felt since he'd returned from his last tour, he eyed it. What was he going to see when he opened it? The Cartel were notorious for blood messages, and ritualised, staged deaths. Designed to torture the victim, and those close to him. Was he going to find a...dead Tony behind that door? A…Tony missing vital appendages? His legs betrayed him, and he stumbled…grappling with and grasping at the wall for support. A deathly chortle reverberated around the room. "emNow /emplease, Agent Gibbs…it would be rude to keep us all waiting, no?" Feeling the tickling of oncoming vomit tickle his throat with its acidic burn, he somehow managed to propel himself forwards. With a slippery palm, he fought to push open the requisite door, his head ringing with the news that he had received so long ago. That his daughter was dead. Now…would he be emseeing /emthe news that his…well, Tony, was dead? His knees buckled a little more./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"As the door reached its full curtain call, and the room that lay within was displayed to him in all its horror, his knees threatened to give way entirely. His mind blanked, a dark mist coming down over his eyes. His brains inane attempt to protect him from what he was seeing. A bloodied, battered and beleaguered looking Tony bound to a chair. Two henchman leering over him with a gun trained on each of his temples. His clothes were torn, his hair was alarming. His Agent response kicked in, and he ran frantic eyes over the kid. His head was lolling on his chest, blood dripped from his slightly open mouth and he didn't seem to have the foggiest idea that he had just entered the room. His gaze became even more frantic. His blue eyes widening and contracting with a gut wrenching panic./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"There were clear burn marks on the exposed areas of his chest. He swallowed. Electricity burns. His swallowing instantly turned to snarling, and armed with what might as well have been a toy knife, he launched himself forwards. He didn't get any further than three steps, when a blinding pain halted him in his tracks. Crumbling, his face hit the cold floor with a jarring snap and he felt the warm flow of blood surge down his face, the taste of rust hitting his mouth as the trickle dripped in. Feeling aftershocks of excruciating pain surge through his spinal cord, he gasped into the filthy floorboards, his stomach contracting with an unforgiving intensity. It had been a long, long time since he'd experienced pain like this, and one of the only things that could have got him back to his feet as quickly as he did, came from across the room. The whimpered "…emboss?" /emhad him scrambling upright, one eye looking for his assailant and one eye trained on a now barely, but still awake, Tony./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The former part of his search came to an abrupt end. A dangerously beautiful woman suddenly strode in front of him, melting out from the shadows with an ease he had to grudgingly admire. His eyes flickered to the object she held in her hand, and the cause of his brief burst of pain became clear. A mini welding torch. He could practically feel his back blistering where he stood. Looking him up and down, the woman's ruby red lips curled upwards into a feral smile. "Hello, Agent Gibbs," she crowed, a breathy quality ringing in her tone, "how nice it is to meet you in person…after all these years." He stared at her impassively, his earlier mantra of emshow no fear/em surging to the fore. He needed to be the Federal Agent Mike had taught him to be right now…he couldn't be emotional, couldn't show weakness. Slipping into the façade of an unperturbed Gunny with an easy that startled even him, he raised the famous Gibbs brow in her direction./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Nice… is not a word I'd use" he retorted evenly, surreptitiously weighting all possible exit strategies from the room he was now pretty sure he would die in./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"She let out a trilling little laugh, stepping back to better take in the stance of her prey. "Now now," she sighed dramatically, "that's not very nice now is it? Not after we've gone to all this trouble…so that we could all be here together." He glared. "You want me. You've got me." He jerked a head in Tony's direction and tried to ignore the stab to his heart when he took in the battle worn disposition looking back at him, "he has no role here…let him go." The two goons all but guffawed at this, but with one loaded glance they instantly fell silent, turning their silent attention back to Tony. This allowed Gibbs to draw certain conclusions. These men were terrified of the woman that stood in front of him, but they were not loyal. His years of experience had taught him that cowards could only be turned in your favour by being more terrifying than the previous threat. As he took the injuries adorning his second in command, his jaw tightened. He could do that. "Now, Agent Gibbs…allow me to introduce myself?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"His teeth gritted, gnashing together in barely suppressed rage. "Oh…I have a fairly good idea who emyou /emare," he answered quietly, his eyes racking her body for any other weapons. None. His lips twitched. Oh to be so young…so arrogant. Maybe…maybe he might just get the kid out of this alive. "I am Paloma Reynosa," she carried on as if he hadn't spoke, "and you…are the filthy emdog/em…murdered my father." She paused to consider him some more, before pressing on. "I have waited a long time to meet you…and for the longest time I feared I never would. But then…then Gibbs, my luck changed…and technology answered my prayers. Who would have thought a sad little embird watcher /emcould capture your…cowardly shooting? Who would have thought that the cinematic treat you've just been shown could ever emexist?" /emShe breathed in deeply, her white teeth gleaming in the scantly lit room. She began to circle him, lighting the welder as she went…her eyes gleaming with a hatred he had never before seen on a woman./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Not even Diane. "Not I. I had never dared believe that such a gift was out there…but there it was. The ornithologist that so daringly filmed your execution died recently, but made arrangements for this tape to be sent to me upon his passing. Apparently he feared me in the earthly life…" she laughed again, a sociopathic tinkling that jarred like nails on a chalkboard. She continued to circle him, like a lion toying with a wounded hyena. He stared straight ahead, not engaging with her little dance…disassociating himself from the goading tones that were wafting in the air. "So naturally I did a little eminvestigating /emGibbs…and there emyou /emwere. A beloved servant to your country…" her lips pared backwards, exposing her teeth in a vicious snarl…"a emmurderer." /emHe could feel the heat of the blue flame emanating from the welder stepping closer and closer to him with each circling, and his senses reached a new high. His eyes flickered over the room, testing for vulnerabilities./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"After each flickering gaze, the blue eyes rested on a large loft style window situated directly behind the now lulling Tony's head. It led to a fire escape. The voice was back. "All those years…my brother and I mourned our emfather… /emand his killer was roaming free. Playing the good cop. The emall American hero/em." Another loop completed, another inch closer with the searing flame. "I'm sure you can imagine Gibbs…how emupsetting /emthat was for us?" She came to a stop in front of him, her high cheekbones encased in the light of the jumping torch held in her hands. This time he was clearly expected to answer. Casting a surreptitious glance over at Tony, he flickered his eyes back to her dark counterparts. "Do you know why?" he asked quietly, a rage of his own bared in his tone. She cocked her head at him, deep brown hair fanning her face. "Why?" she echoed wonderingly, before the snarl came crashing back to the fore. "There is no emwhy…/emyou were just a emgood little soldier boy/em, following your emillegal, unsanctioned/em orders." She stepped back to look him up and down with a look of contempt he had to admire. "To you empeople /emhe was just a target, another feather in your pathetic little federal caps," Paloma spat, her cheeks taking on a crimson hue with years of rage building up to this moment. "To emus…/emhe was out emfather."/em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Her chest was heaving with the effort of her ire, her eyes glassing over with an emotion that he correctly surmised had controlled her life since the very day he had put a bullet in her father's head. His breath hitched. He had no idea…that she had no idea. Eying her carefully, he stole another glance at his second in command. A steady dripping of blood was trickling from his abused mouth, as his chin rested on his chest, completely oblivious to his surroundings. His heart contracted mercilessly again. He fought to bring himself back the woman in front of him. Arching a brow at her, he considered her in silence for a moment. "Is that what you think?" he eventually murmured, a quiet hatred in his own voice. Matching, if not beating hers. Brown eyes met blue, as the two stared at each other in a wordless bout of mutual loathing. "It is what I emknow./em" she hissed after a moment, her gaze scorching him, as he looked on, apparently unperturbed. In truth, every waking millisecond was spent analysing the binding on Tony, the extent of his injuries, his degree of ability in participating in his own escape./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""You know nothing." he answered calmly, allowing a patronising, sardonic tone to colour his words. The embryonic plan he was forming, emrequired /emher to lose her cool. He was rewarded. She took a step closer to him, and he instantly felt the heat on his face grow as the flickering torch sailed nearby. "I know nothing?" He nodded slowly, twitching his lips into his trademark smirk. "Nothing." She let out a feral groan, her lips parting with the effort. "I know that you killed my father, and I know that I can either kill you and your empuppy…/emor…I can kill your puppy and have you watch…emor /emI can send that tape to your government." She paused for a laborious breath, and grinned a sadistic grin. "Or I can do all three." He stared at her impassively, the picture of arrogance, but inside he was working the hardest he'd ever had to not to throw up. She had two men on Tony, at least three outside the hellhole they were currently holed up in. That made five, heavily armed, mercenaries. Against, him, armed with a singular blade. His throat was threatening to close in again. He needed to keep her talking./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""And will you tell emthem /emthat your piece of filth father was a murderer himself. A emchild /emkiller?" he drawled, his eyes flicking to the large window behind his listless agent's head once more. She started. Licking her lips slowly, she ran a scorching gaze of incredulity over him. "What is this fantasy?" she spat, "my father would never harm a emchild." /emHe stared back at her with a look that would send most serial killers scattering for the hills. "Oh he would…" he answered slowly, in a tone of contempt he hadn't used in years. "You know how I know that, emPaloma?" /emHe paused, sucking in a breath. "I know that because he harmed emmy /emchild. I know that because he killed emmy /emchild. I know that because he killed my emchild…/em emand /emmy emwife/em." There was a silence, so pressing that even the two hired muscle didn't dare let out a breath. The complexion of the woman in front of him changed so rapidly she could pass for a set of sporadic traffic lights. He watched silently as she grappled with the information she had clearly been so ignorant of, his eyes darting to the window and Tony with every passing second. It would need to be soon. Very soon./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""You emliar," /emshe screeched eventually, her eyes popping with a rage of betrayal. My father would never kill a child. How emdare /emyou say these things!" She moved closer to him, like a lion closing in, and he once again felt the dangerous warmth of the dancing flame in her hands. "My father was a good man. He wouldn't dream of doing these…these emthings. /emMaybe to your idiot wife, yes, if she was as stupid as you. But emnever /ema emchild." /emIgnoring the slur on Shannon's name with a difficulty he barely mastered, he eyed her coolly. "My Kelly was emeight /emyears old when your lowlife father ran her car off the road, killing her and her mother instantly. To stop my wife from testifying against emanother /emof your little clans scumbags."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Another screech was elicited. "You emlie. /emHe never….he emwould /emnever…" He arched a brow. It was now or never. There was an edge, and he had to push her over it. "You don't have a brother or sister that mysteriously died from some illness do you?" he murmured quietly, watching her closely…"because maybe daddy dearest just emliked /emkilling little kids. What do you think?" He had done it. She went over the edge. Sailing over the edge. As she leapt towards him, he expertly side stepped her and reached for his secreted knife, relieved that his assessment that the two men wouldn't leave their post unless explicitly told to, proved true. She really emwas /emthat arrogant. He was hers to kill… and hers alone. That was his only advantage. Palming the knife, he dodged her next hysteric advance with an ease born of natural skill and years of experience. His gaze on her was now impersonal, she was just another target. He had to be rational, the kid's life depended on it./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"As he searched for an opening, remaining clam in the din of her laborious screeching, he suddenly spied his opportunity. All her waving of the flame that had blistered his back only once, left each side of her ribcage foolishly exposed. Squaring himself, he prepared to plunge the blade into her flank, prepared to eviscerate all vital organs that stood in his way. But he never got the chance. Never moved an inch. Above the sounds of his opponents snarling and snapping, there suddenly came a much louder sound. The sound of crashing, smashing glass. The sound of splintering doors, creaking floorboards and raised voices. He barely had time to blink, before both the window that he had set his heart on and the heavy wooden door of his impromptu prison burst in. Glass went careering across the floor, chunks of wood close behind. The occupants of the room stood frozen for a moment. But for just a moment. He ducked instinctively as the firearm warfare began. But he didn't stay secreted for long. A raw panic nearly paralysed him, but he pushed his way through it, crawling along the floor. Staying as close to the walls as possible, he inched his way as quickly as he could. The fanfare of bullets continued around as his head, as he arched his back./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Lunging, he expertly dodged around the otherwise engaged Reynosa goons. Throwing his full weight at the chair where Tony was bound, he pushed it down out of the direct line of fire. Covering his second in command with his own back, he deftly tore at the binds abusing his skin, bearing him to his post. All the while, he was pulling and dragging as carefully as possible, but as quickly as he dared. Inching closer and closer to the nearest corner, he freed Tony from his binds, and continuing to shield him from a hail of bullets, dragged him into the corner. He was breathing. He hadn't been hit. If ever there was proof of miracles, this was it. The gunfire was petering off, the haze of bullets dwindling. His pace quickened. Who were these people? He didn't get a good look at them, or even a bad look, as he had raced towards his agent. Were they friend or foe? His stomach churned at the likelihood of foe. And if this foe was strong enough, brazen enough to take on the Reynosa cartel…then that didn't bode very well for them./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"For…him. Glancing down at Tony's bloodied face, he felt his head swoon. The window was now just a shell. If he could just get the kid onto the fire exit… He tested he weight of the body in his hands, and forced himself into a more upright position. But that was as far as he got. Feeling the presence standing over him, he cradled his knife in his the smell of a recently discharged firearm assailing his nostrils…his heart stopped. And that was when he stopped acting like an agent, stopped relying on his skill. That was when he lost it. Throwing his body over Tony's he shook his head. Holding the kid's head into his chest, he breathed in his familiar scent. "Please…" he croaked out, his voice muffled, his mouth pressed into Tony's hair. "Just kill emme/em…he's innocent…he's innocent…" There was a suffocating silence in the wake of his plea. "If I was going to kill you Jethro…don't you think I would have done it by now?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The blue eyes flew open. It couldn't be. "Look at me Jethro…let's take a look at your lad…come on now…" No. It was a trick. It had to be. No. He wouldn't expose Tony. It was just another trick. He held his elder boy tighter. "Please no…please not him…" Another silence. "Jethro…it's me. Come on now, the kid needs seeing to….emlook at me/em Jethro…" He hesitated. The voice was spot on. Surely it emmust /embe him… He took a breath. Without releasing an unconscious Tony, he swivelled his head around carefully. Careful not to move his torso, he swivelled a bit more. He exhaled sharply. It wasn't a trick. Relief flooded through him like a burst banks river, and he stared speechlessly for a few moments…hardly daring to believe that it could be ok. That it emwould /embe ok. "Tobias?" he eventually murmured, still maintaining a tight hold on Tony. An encouraging nod. "Yeah Jethro…it's me. It's ok now…we have the situation under control. Neither of you are in any more danger…it's emok."/em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The use of "we" sparked another careful swivelling./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Relief flooded him again. The room was choc a block with feds. Tobias' people. Good people. His gaze grew wider. Paloma Reynosa lay dead in the centre of the room, her hand still furled around the now extinguished welding torch. Her head playing host to a federal bullet. Her two henchmen also lay dead, inches away from the spot where they had brutalised his…well, Tony. Another slap of relief. "An ambulance is on the way Jethro…just hold onto the lad, he'll be ok…" He had never let go of him. He barely registered a voice he dimly recognised move closer. "It's done sir…there is no back up or re recording of that tape anywhere. Forensics are sure of it." The voice moved away, as Tobias inched closer. "Jethro…your back," he whispered…"you're bleeding, let me take a look?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The ragged shaking of the grey head was to be expected. That would mean letting go of him. "I'm fine," he muttered, with a trace of his usual brusque demeanour, "where the hell is that bus Tobias?" Sending out another ETA request over the radio, his old friend inched closer still. "It's coming; it's coming…three more minutes." Another silence reigned, as Gibbs kept a firm hand on his agent's pulse. It was thready, but it was there. Silence continued to prevail, as the FBI swarmed in and out of the room. He might as well have been alone there, alone with Tony for all the notice he took. The silence was eventually broken, so close that Gibbs could not tune it out./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Or want to tune it out. The kid suddenly stirred in his arms, and a flash of emerald green shot up at him as the eyelids fluttered. Another serving of blood escaped the strong jaw, as it opened. Spilling onto Gibbs' grasp, a stark reminder that he literally emdid /emhave blood on his hands. "Boss…" came the faint muttering, and Gibbs' ears immediately strained to catch every syllable, whilst his heart danced at the sound of the boy's voice. "You….you…" he faltered, his eyes dropping and fluttering in tandem. Gibbs gripped him closer. "What son?" he urged softly, "I…what?" The eyes flickered open again, and a ghost of the roguish grin that caused him equal bouts of pride and exasperation on a daily basis surfaced./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""You… look like hell old man."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"…./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"TBC/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"…./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"A/N: So, this was my take on the whole Reynosa storyline! I always thought Paloma would be the type to take like for like, sort of a "kill the first born" type situation. Anyway, it's my first foray into a complete reversal of a Canon storyline, so please let me know how you think it went!/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"As always, thanks for reading guys!/p 


	4. I Walk with Him

Lolling in and out of sleep beside Tony's hospital bed, having glared a look of death at the terrified nurse who suggested he go home and have some rest, Gibbs' fitful nap was interrupted.

The swooshing of the electronic doors alerted him to a familiar presence, and he straightened himself up in the uncomfortable chair.

"Hey Tobias" he greeted quietly, gesturing at the sleeping Tony in an unspoken command to keep the noise to a minimum.

Heeding this warning, the FBI agent sat himself down close to his old friend and ran a thoughtful gaze over him.

He wasn't clean shaven, bags hung under his eyes and there wasn't even a coffee cup to be seen in the room.

"You _can_ leave you know" he urged quietly, gesturing at the slumbering agent in the room, "he won't wake for another while at least surely."

He instantly held up his hands in defeat as the same look that sent the nurse scattering for the hills was aimed in his direction.

"Alright, alright" he conceded. "I take it you'd like a rundown of events however?"

The swift nod accompanied by the enlargement of the blue eyes let him know that the information he was about to spill had been coveted dearly.

He took a deep breath.

This…might not go down all that well.

Scratch that, this was _not_ going to go down well.

Not at all well.

"A couple of weeks ago, we were lead to chatter through a long time informant that a large scale drug cartel was coming to town. At first, we didn't consider it to be a considerable threat as the chatter was sporadic at best…"

He trailed off, his gaze dancing between his friend and his friends…well, Tony.

"Anyway, eventually an address came through. The address of that hellhole we found you in. Given the increase in pipelines being set up in DC we were ordered to at least sit on it for a few days and observe. Some seriously sketchy types came and went, but there were no sightings of any high profile targets. I guess Paloma set up shop inside before we set down."

He paused again, licking his lips nervously.

"Uhh…well like I said, no one of note entered or exited the building until a couple of days ago…"

He trailed off, wondering how any higher power would react to him selling out a man on his hospital bed.

A brave man at that.

"…and?" Gibbs prompted impatiently, not appreciating having his attention being diverted away from the sleeping kid unless it was very much warranted.

Tobias blinked.

"…and, that was when uhh…well when your lad there showed up, entering the building quite late at night."

Gibbs stared, and Fornell nervously continued.

"So when I saw him, I assumed NCIS was also on the case, though there was no apparent military connection. It was pretty late like I say, so I didn't call you to ask you what the hell your agent was doing at my stake out, I just waited for him to come back out…"

The widening of the blue eyes was worrisome, and Fornell cursed his error for the hundredth time.

He faltered as he continued his accounting of events, and the eyes narrowed.

"Use your words Tobias" Gibbs commanded quietly, and the burgeoning of anger in his tone was evident to anyone who knew him,

Nodding more to himself than anything, the federal agent continued.

"So yeah…he eventually came out and I pulled him aside. He fought me, which now I think of it, was pretty odd…I thought he would have known there would be FBI involvement."

The look being sent in his direction let him know that it _was_ indeed odd.

"Anyway, the kid eventually id' me and told me that he was working undercover with the Reynosa cartel. That both you and your director had authorised his mission…and that there was a possibility of inter agency information sharing being leaked, so I needed to keep it to myself. He assured me off the proper naval connection."

He faltered once more as the blue eyes turned glacial.

"I didn't put two and two together with the Reynosa cartel, I didn't put it together with Pedro…and I believed him. I…I'm sorry Jethro."

He paused once more, knowing how his old friend felt about apologies but being unable to refrain from giving one in the circumstances.

There was silence from the NCIS side of the chair, and he didn't interrupt the quiet considerations that were clearly rattling around Gibbs' head.

Eventually his friend, and ex wife sharing counterpart spoke.

The rage in his tone could have been heard all the way to Hong Kong.

"You should have called" he growled, with a ferocious glare "If it was one of yours… _I_ would have called _you_. You should have known I would never put one of mine undercover without a backup. Never."

He held up his hand as Fornell made to interrupt.

"That being said…" he sighed, "Tony can be convincing when he wants to be, and… I can't blame you for believing him."

He chewed his lip, and then gave a wave of his hand.

"Carry on."

Nodding slowly, Tobias opened his mouth once more.

"Well…we continued to sit on the place, and Tony continued to drop by. It was no different last night…except we got called away to a shooting downtown. We're stretched thin at the moment…which is why we didn't see you enter I guess."

Another sucking of air.

"Someone else picked up the detail, and we were at the other scene for a couple of hours. I radioed to the stake out guys to ask had Tony left yet, seeing as he usually left after an hour or so. They said there had been no sign of him leaving."

He fidgeted slightly.

"I felt like something wasn't right…I don't know, a gut feeling or whatever. So my men and I drove back to the projects…and that was when I saw _your_ car. Given the resources involved in putting _one_ agent undercover, I couldn't believe you'd pull up in your fully plated car into the middle of a cartel hellhole."

He breathed deeply again.

"I guess…I guess it all just clicked then. I guessed that Tony didn't have clearance to be where he was, and that you'd gone in after him. Alone."

He shook his head.

"So we went in after you…with back up on the way" his eyes roved over Tony's still purple face, and his many lacerations operating as his signs of torture.

"I guess we were too late" he added bitterly, feeling a tidal wave of acidic guilt wash up inside of him.

He remembered the lengths his friend had gone to when he felt his daughter had been in danger, and when _his…_ well, Tony had been in danger…he had failed him.

Both of them.

"I'm sorry Jethro" he repeated miserably, "I should have known better. This…this is all my damn fault…"

With that, his shoulders dropped significantly and he stared dejectedly at the sanitised floor beneath his feet.

Gibbs for his part also remained silent.

His mind was struggling under the weight of the information he'd just received. His gaze flickered from Tony to Tobias, and a weariness set in upon him.

Tony had risked his _life_ night after night, day after day, for what sounded like the best part of an entire week.

What had they been _doing_ to him in those late night visits?

How had he not _seen_ the stress the kid had been under?

…and all…all because of him, all _for_ him.

His gut churned.

His heart stilled.

His gaze rested over the battered but resolutely handsome face and felt a barrage of emotions that he didn't have words for.

Without realising it, he instinctively reached out and quickly squeezed Fornell's shoulder.

"It's ok" he muttered quietly, knowing with a devastating acuity just how guilty his friend felt.

Speaking over him as he protested, he continued to put the matter to rest.

"If it wasn't for you…and your men, we'd both be dead" he said clearly, "you saved our lives…you saved _his_ life. I'll always owe you."

When Fornell made to argue, he once again held up a hand.

"That's the end of the matter" he confirmed firmly, and was relieved when after a brief silence, Tobias gave a jerky nodding of agreement.

Shaking the extended hand, he smiled a rare smile and the issue between the two melted away.

"How is he?"

Gibbs sighed, and racked another gaze over his sleeping eldest boy.

"He'll be ok they say" he answered quietly, "they're keeping him in for observation more than anything, and to redress his wounds. There's no…serious injury, apparently."

His voice faltered.

As far as he was concerned, no matter what the doctors told him, there _was_ serious injury. That heathen had tortured his senior agent, and just for the hell of it. His mind flickered to the NCIS files that had been found at the scene, full of blank sheets of paper.

He had come to the correct conclusion hours ago.

That she had tried to force sensitive information out of him in return for not releasing the video. That Tony had pretended to play along, that he'd loaded federal files with blank sheets to gain access to the warehouse.

He was guessing, and he didn't know it yet but he was guessing correctly, that his idea was to destroy the footage from within.

His heart clenched again.

The kid…he'd had no idea of the depths of depravity shrouding Paloma; he'd had no idea he had merely been the bait for her truly intended target.

He'd had no idea…that the man he looked up to the most…was a murderer.

Gibbs barely registered Tobias murmuring that he would give them some space, barely felt the hand on his shoulder, and barely managed to mumble the requisite goodbye.

His mind was whirring once more.

What must Tony think of him now?

Had he walked past him numerous times a day, not knowing that the kid now knew he was technically a fugitive from justice?

The blue eyes zeroed in on the bruises, the cuts and the burns dotted around the major skin plains of his longest serving agent.

Every single offence against the skin had been for him.

He was guessing again, and he didn't know it yet but he was guessing correctly, that he was tortured for more than just one reason.

One, just for the hell of it.

Two, for information.

…information, on _him._

The many lacerations staring back at him told him that the second reason had been unsuccessful and the volcano like guilt he felt continued to brew.

He had been in so much danger.

He had gone through so much pain.

All because of him…all because he didn't _tell_ him.

The meaning behind the well worn phrase of _sins of the father_ rattled around his brain as he sat miserably.

First Tony had suffered the ramifications of having a useless biological father, and now…now he was suffering the ramifications of having _him_ in his life.

The blue eyes widened in an inexpressible pain.

He stood and leant over the bed; gently resting his head on the sandy brown bristles of hair. The only part of his…well, Tony's body that apparently hadn't been touched.

Even his legs bore signs of burns.

He closed his eyes and felt the burning of relief that he was going to be ok, that he was going to wake up soon and he would hear his voice.

That relief…that carrot in the midst of all the stick, it was short lived.

Very short lived.

Out of nowhere, a cacophony of beeping, shrilling and voices seemed to descend upon the room. The din was so sudden, so bizarre, it felt surreal.

His eyes flew open, and he stared a scorching stare down at his elder boy.

The green eyes seemed to clench tighter still, as a young doctor with an older nurse hot on his heels burst into the room.

"Stand back" the doctor ordered urgently, directing his gaze on the hand that Gibbs still had rested upon his agent's head.

"Get the dad out of here" he murmured to the nurse, as he moved closer to the bed eying the machines urgently, as the nurse moved towards Gibbs.

Startled, but rapidly feeling a pit of dread settle into his stomach, he removed his hand from the soft hair where it had been resting and stepped back, his own heart being in danger of needing medical attention.

…and then was when Tony stopped breathing.

…..

TBC

…..


	5. Till Morning

The muffled voices around him were growing clearer, as the bright lights that threatened to penetrate his closed eyelids grew stronger. The slimmer of oncoming consciousness engulfed him, and his muscles tensed expectantly.

…but no tidal wave of pain came.

The muscles relaxed slightly.

He kept his eyes closed. He wasn't ready to open them.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was, though the sanitised odours that lingered in the air would suggest a hospital. The murmured voices were familiar, but their owners' identity alluded him in the moment.

One of the voices, the most distinctive one, grew clearer still and the panic that had remained firmly in the pit of his stomach melted instantly.

 _Gibbs._

Forcing his eyes to flutter open, he took in the scene surrounding him after several seconds of almost bemused blinking. Standing closest to his bed stood his boss, who was clearly arguing with a growingly irate looking doctor.

Huddled in the corner of the room were Tim, Ziva and Abby who were supporting the verbal tirade of their leader by shooting dire glances at the medic.

Tony blinked again as the relief that was flooding through him rendered him slightly dizzy.

He was alive. He wasn't in jail. He was _here._

"I am _telling_ you Agent Gibbs" the frustrated doctor repeated, "he is _fine._ When he wakes up, he'll be given the once over and then we can begin discharge process."

The growling that filled the room could only have come from once source, and Tony flinched in sympathy for this unknown healer, still going unnoticed as awake by anyone in the room.

"I am _telling_ you Doctor" the equally frustrated agent spat "that I _want_ a second opinion."

There was a bristling silence as the two men stood toe to toe, and the younger members of Team Gibbs had to admire the doc's nerve.

"I am the head of Pulmonology at this hospital. I am the leading Pulmonologist on this _coast_. If I tell you that this patient is fine, then this patient, is _fine."_

He paused for a moment, scratching something out on the chart he held in his hand.

He looked up to deliver another irritated assurance, but the look of uncertainty and pain that suddenly flashed in the unnervingly blue eyes before him stopped him short.

Moderating his tone, he cast around his mind.

"Agent Gibbs…you have my word. He's going to be just _fine_. Like I say, the transient complications arose from the plague he suffered years back, and the resultant scar tissue formed. You put that together with…what he went through, and the scarring becomes agitated. The lungs cannot function."

He paused, always finding layman's explanations tricky.

"The medication we gave him toned down the scarring, he is now no worse off from the lung damage than he was when he first came in here."

The pain in the steely eyes was disturbing.

He surreptitiously checked the chart again.

Nope, this man was not the kid's father. Not according to his files anyway.

"With a bit of TLC at home, he's going to be absolutely fine" he concluded firmly, hoping that this time the intriguing grey haired man would accept the medical truth.

He was in luck.

Softening his gaze somewhat, Gibbs have a half abrupt, half sheepish jerk of his head.

"Thanks doc."

Nodding, the wearied attending turned and swept from the room, his mind still buzzing with the intensity of the boss' care for a member of staff.

He'd never seen anything like it.

Inside the room, the cause of all the turmoil thought he best make an appearance. His lips seemed dry and scratchy, whilst his throat clearly hadn't been through much usage.

So it wasn't easy, but he got there.

"None of you look any better in the afterlife" he mumbled weakly, and four heads instantly swivelled in his direction.

Gibbs got there first.

Of course he did.

Taking up position beside his senior agents head, he stared down at him fiercely.

"How you feeling Tony?" he breathed anxiously, with no trace of the ferocity in his stare evident in his soft tone.

The lips twitched upwards.

"I'm fine boss…I just want to get the hell out of here now."

Nodding, Gibbs looked up at the other three gathered round the bed who were all touching whatever part of Tony they could reach.

His unspoken direction was instantly heeded as each of the three spun on their hell and went about their own part in making the discharge process happen.

Gibbs took the privacy to rest his hand on the kid's hair and intensify his gaze upon him.

"You sure you're ok kid?"

Tony flinched at the raw worry still evident in the man's tone, and nodded his head to the best of his ability.

"I'm perfectly fine boss honest" he reassured quietly, and it was true.

He felt no pain, his breathing was back to normal. He was mostly just tired.

That being said, he could feel bandages adorning his person and the slightly stiff quality of his facial muscles coupled with his slightly reduced vision let him know his face probably wasn't looking so hot.

"I just want to crash on my couch and watch Magnum" he concluded firmly, looking up at the elder man beseechingly.

The instant shaking of the head was to be expected.

"Not a chance. My place. No arguments."

Battered and beleaguered though he was, Tony DiNozzo didn't give into anything without _some_ argument.

"…but boss" he protested, "I don't need looking after. I just need to-"

"Do as you're told, with minimal fuss."

Looking askance at the interruption, Tony frowned.

The full weight of the situation was suddenly bearing down on him.

Acting in what he considered to be Gibbs' best interests to the forsaking of his own had never gone down well with his boss before, and as he ran a gaze over the man now, it would seem that hadn't changed.

The older agent was caring, concerned and gentle.

…but Tony knew enough, knew _him_ enough to know there was an anger burning inside him. A very carefully concealed anger that was going to be put to one side until Gibbs deemed him healthy enough to unleash it.

He gulped.

Maybe his lungs healing wasn't the best thing for him after all.

"Boss…" he tried again, fruitlessly, "I'm not going to die if I'm left on my own."

This was accompanied by a mere shadow of his usual dashing smile, and the green eyes didn't reflect the sentiment.

Gibbs merely ran a gentle hand through the kid's hair as he contemplated his words.

"Oh I know you're not going to die Tony" he agreed amiably enough.

The boy stared, was this miracle in the making?

"Great" he mumbled hopefully, "so I can just go to my place and-"

The gentle rubbing of the soft tousled hair intensified again.

"I _know_ you're not going to die Tony, because… _I'm_ going to _kill_ you myself."

…..

TBC

…..

A/N: I don't pretend to have any medical knowledge whatsoever. The whole thing about the agitated scarring is completely made up, please forgive me!

Thanks for reading guys.


	6. Bring Him Home

"This is so boring. Please…I beg you, can we switch over?"

The supremely unperturbed chewing of the fire roasted steak and the mild arching of the eyebrow was all the answer he got.

Sighing, Tony turned back to his own dinner and tried to block out the documentary on drills that was blaring out the television set.

Yes… _drills_.

It had been four days into his forced recuperation stint at chez Gibbs, and whilst he had protested and moaned, he was secretly glad to be there.

He was especially glad to have been there last night, when he woke up in a cold sweat.

When he woke up with his heart springing off his chest.

When he'd woken up to find himself upright in bed, and… in Gibbs' arms.

As he chewed his steak, he recalled the stricken expression on the older man's face as he'd calmed him down, assured him it was just a nightmare and that he was safe. His healing scars seemed to quiver as he recalled the dream.

Recalled the pain.

"Everything ok?"

Tony's eyes reeled sideways. He hadn't realised he'd been showing outwards signs of distress. Nodding quickly, he smiled his easy smile.

"Yeah boss…just heartburn."

Gibbs nodded slowly in pretended acceptance of the misdirection as he sighed internally. He was sure the kid was still in a worked up state. He probably needed to talk, but his gruff suggestion that he see someone had been met with outrage.

He'd quickly backed off.

He suspected, though that could be his famous arrogance talking, that the best thing for Tony was simply being there for him, and with him.

He had done that as best he could, and in the short time the younger man had taken up residence in he and Tim's room, there was a strong resemblance to his former self.

…albeit to the soundtrack of wheedling protests.

He returned his gaze to the documentary in front of him, but his mind was now far away from its information.

The issue of Tony's foray into unsanctioned territory hung between them. He hadn't brought it up since he'd steered the kid through his front door, and neither had he. Gibbs knew his second in command well enough to know that _he_ would know his actions hadn't gone down well.

Not that his heart hadn't swelled, and not that his eyes hadn't been irritated by pollen as he thought of the lengths Tony was willing to go to for him.

They had.

…but they didn't override the fear he had felt, or the resultant anger that had taken its place.

He had been through his with Tony before, and he knew how he felt about _any_ of them taking risks with their lives.

Even if it was for him.

Scratch that.

 _Especially_ if it was for him.

Tony wasn't the only one in the room showing outwards signs of consternation and not being aware of it.

The quiet "you alright boss?" startled him, as he swallowed down the last bite of his dinner.

Inclining his head, he offered a small smile and washed down the steak with a swig of beer.

"Yeah Tony, fine" he murmured.

Nodding, the patient returned to his own plate and pushed a few mushrooms around on it, before letting out a heavy sigh. Setting down his dinner, he leant forwards in his seat.

He just couldn't take it anymore, he had to know.

…not that he didn't know already, but…still.

"You're pissed at me, aren't you?"

Gibbs looked at his second in surprise, before also setting down his plate and leaning forwards somewhat. He hadn't expected the kid to bring up the issue of his burning down of the reservation, but he realised that he ought to have known better.

Tony couldn't stand unresolved issues.

He fumbled around in his brain for a way to be delicate, before giving it up as a bad job.

He didn't _do_ delicate.

"Yeah Tony" he conceded truthfully, "I am."

Turning in his seat to look at the younger man whom he was so sure he was going to lose but a few days ago. "…but we don't need to talk about that now. We'll… discuss it when you're feeling a bit better."

Feeling his stomach sink, the senior agent slowly shook his head in dejection.

He had expected the answer he'd just received, but still…it _did_ kinda sting.

"I was just trying to protect you" he mumbled miserably, swirling the water around in his glass.

Gibbs had flat out refused him beer whilst he was taking medication.

The gently morose note in the kid's voice barrelled its way right through the gruff exterior of the Marine as he instinctively reached out and softly tousled the sandy hair.

"I know that Tony…I know that."

He pondered for a moment, staring into the dwindling flames of the previously roaring fire.

"…but that doesn't make what you did ok, no matter how brave it was and… no matter how proud I am of you for it."

A relatively companionable quiet descended as Tony digested this.

The shocked "you're proud of me?" kicked another gaping hole in the brusque demeanour, and when accompanied with the wide green eyes, the battle of stoicism was rapidly going downhill.

Rubbing a hand through his own hair in frustration at his complete mediocrity with words, Gibbs wished for the millionth time, that Shannon were still alive.

"Well, _yeah_ , Tony…how the hell could I _not_ be?"

Spluttering on the last dregs of his water, the kid looked at him in bewilderment.

"You _just_ said you were mad at me!"

Gibbs couldn't help but smile his crooked smile at the affronted expression looking at him.

"What can I say…I'm a very emotionally complex person" he joked with an expressive toss of his head that had his second in command choking back a laugh.

A relaxation was spreading throughout Tony as he sat, the elephant in the room having been given its marching orders was an unprecedented relief.

He knew there was no point in asking his boss to just get whatever he had coming to him, over with right now. Even though he felt perfectly fine, he still looked perfectly ghastly. He snorted slightly at the irony.

An eyebrow was raised in his direction.

"I just think it's funny how you're purposely waiting for me to be completely free of pain, before _causing_ me pain" he explained matter-of-factly.

Rolling his eyes, Gibbs shook his head in amusement he didn't think he could feel in the current situation.

"I think the word you're looking for is _sting"_ he contradicted with a chuckle, " _pain_ is a bit of an exaggeration don't you think?"

Tony glared.

"No, no I really _don't_ think" he snapped, but there was no bite in his bark and Gibbs merely shook his head serenely.

"…anyway kid like I said, we're not talking about that right now. In a few days, then we can talk ok?"

Seeing a moderately mutinous quality take over the younger man's face, he sighed.

He knew how Tony was feeling, _he_ hated having the discussion hanging over them just as much as he did but there was just no way he was going to have it when the kid was less than a hundred percent.

" _Ok?"_

The handsome face creased for just another fraction before the head nodded in agreement.

"Ok" Tony conceded quietly, and returned the smile that curved back at him.

Relief blanketing him, Gibbs checked the time on the mantelpiece clock. Standing up, he gathered the dishes and called over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen "do you still have water? It's time for your last two tablets."

Groaning, Tony shouted back a "no, but I can get my own stuff, you don't have to…"

The clanging of dishes cut him off and he rolled his eyes.

Moments later the elder of the two returned with a bottle of ice cold water and the one painkiller and one anti inflammatory.

Taking them without protest, Tony rolled his eyes as his boss stood looking at him until he swallowed them before giving a satisfied nod.

… _jeesh, you forget to take your pills one time and you get a candy striper._

He kept that thought to himself.

"Come on, time to hit the rack. It's late."

At this, there was no biting down the squeak of protest.

"Gibbs…c'mon man, I'm not ten…I don't need to _go_ to bed at ten."

Tidying up the room, the older agent merely smiled with a patience that God himself would be proud of.

"I know you're not ten Tony" he agreed, picking up a few chip packets "but the doctor said you need to rest, so rest you will. Up. Move it."

A scowl was instantly provided as arms were crossed mutinously.

"That's ridiculous. I've been resting all day. I've been resting for _days._ I don't need anymore."

Plucking up the remote to flick of the television, Gibbs arched a mildly warning brow.

"Don't argue with me about this Tony. Go upstairs and to your room please, now."

The scowl intensified.

"Are _you_ going to bed?"

Rolling his eyes as he flicked out the corner lamp, the older man kept a firm handle on his temper.

"Yup. Just as soon as you move your butt and _get up those stairs."_

About to snap back an answer that flew to the tip of his tongue, Tony bit the offending organ and swallowed it.

He knew when a battle was supremely hopeless.

Nevertheless, he hoisted himself up with a poor grace and sent a wounded look at a completely unperturbed Gibbs as he made his way to the stairs.

On the seventh step, he gave in and murmured a pleasant "night boss", before taking the eighth stair.

"Night Tony" Gibbs answered calmly, "shout if you need anything."

The sandy brown head bobbed and down before its owner took the last stair and disappeared out of sight.

Twenty minutes later, and feeling a _tiny_ twinge of guilt for rigidly enforcing the doctor's orders on a reluctant patient, Gibbs very gently creaked open the door of Tony and Tim's room to see did its occupant want anything.

The sight of a slumbering agent in the first bed met him, and he smiled a smile that he would call "stupid" on anyone else as he saw the contented look on the boy's face.

Maybe that doctor really was on to something.

The next day dawned with a chill, and the routine of forcing breakfast into a protesting Tony so he could take the necessary tablets was in full swing as Gibbs grabbed what he needed for work. This routine was followed over the next few days, and the elder of the two was more than pleased to see the bruises and cuts that adorned the agent's body fading well.

On the twelfth day of the recuperation stint, when Tony lumbered into the kitchen, there were no evident signs of injury remaining. Throwing himself down in front of a fry that was making his mouth water, the younger agent cast a questioning eyebrow in the direction of a staring Gibbs.

"It's just…your bruises, cuts…they look so much better today. You can barely even see them" he explained sheepishly.

Tony nodded in agreement with a grin.

"I know…which is great, but also a drag…the chicks totally dig battle scars."

Shaking his head in mild exasperation but feeling ridiculously happy at the improvement, Gibbs threw down the last of his coffee and grabbed a case file from the counter.

"OK. You know the drill. Rest, and nothing but. Yes?"

Biting his lip in agitation Tony gave a sullen jerk of his head.

Suddenly, he couldn't keep it anymore and speech that he hadn't planned simply burst out of him.

"Can we…can we just have that… uhh…" he reddened, "that uhm discussion when you get home? So I can _stop_ resting and actually go _out?"_

Gibbs stopped in his tracks as he grabbed his jacket, and ran a scorching gaze over Tony's physique.

He looked as good as new. He promised him, and the man knew he wasn't lying, that he felt fine and he had finished all courses of prescribed medication. His third call to the now thoroughly exasperated physician overseeing his case also assured him that the young agent was completely fine.

He swallowed.

It was time. Like it or not, it was time to have the conversation he desperately wanted to just forego but knew he wouldn't.

"Sure Tony" he finally answered, with a gentle note in his voice. "I should be home by five today anyway but…" he hesitated, not wanting the young man to build on false hope "discussion over or not, you shouldn't be banking on going out for quite a while."

Seeing the outraged look beginning to spread across the handsome face, he took it as his que to leave and throwing his jacket on, he ruffled the muted boy's hair and was gone.

The day dragged.

Lolling on the couch got boring. Trying to sleep got boring. Eating got boring.

…he had _never_ been so bored.

What he really wanted to do, was go for a run.

Surely Gibbs wouldn't begrudge him that much?

Looking out at the clear blue sky's he frowned. He could be out and back within the hour, hell the boss wouldn't even _know._

He blinked.

Who was he kidding?

Of course he'd know. He'd probably knew that he'd even thought about it. Sighing, he resigned himself to another two hours of horrifying daytime TV. The thoughts of the upcoming conversation were pushed firmly to the back of his mind.

He was actually quite immersed in the Australian soap drama that was flickering on the screen, when he heard the handle of the front door rattle.

He peeked over the back of the sofa to see Gibbs push open the door, struggling under the weight of a large file box and a large bag of takeout.

Springing up, Tony made a beeline for the food, relieving a laden down Jethro of the Indian cuisine.

Rolling his eyes at the complete lack of assistance with the heavy box, Gibbs set it down with a chuckle and shrugged out of his jacket.

"Good day?" he asked amiably, as he grabbed two plates and glasses from the cupboard.

"Oh yeah" Tony drawled sarcastically, breathing in the delicious Korma, "I'm actually just back from a spot of deep sea diving. Riveting stuff."

Rooting around for cutlery, the older of the two didn't know whether to laugh or rebuke.

He settled for a half hearted "you're back in the fitness category for a good head slap you know."

Pushing Gibbs' container towards him with a smirk, the two were soon throwing down the food to the tune of amiable chatter, Tony's quizzing about the teams current case being answered without hesitation.

When the last morsel had been eaten and the last drop drunk, Gibbs stood and began to clear away with a heavy heart.

"Ok Tony, go on up to your room and I'll be up in a few minutes."

For a minute, and a long minute at that, it seemed the young agent would refuse. After an obvious bout of consideration however, he jerked his head and set off without a word.

Clearing diligently for a few more moments, Gibbs could stall no longer and with only the thoughts of _at least it will be over soon_ steering him, he was soon knocking on Tony and Tim's door.

He entered with the muffled "come in" to find the sweat pants and t-shirt clad kid sitting on his bed, looking up with those damned wide eyes.

Forcing himself to appear firm, the team leader sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over at the recovered agent with a raised brow.

"So" he began, "I guess we need to talk huh?"

Tony stared at him quietly, before nodding his head slightly and with a mumbled "guess so."

Gibbs gathered his thoughts for a moment, before opening his mouth.

"Tony…I want you to be under no confusion here. What you did…it was incredibly brave, selfless and it's what makes you such an incredible agent and…friend. I get, I really _do_ get that you were doing what you did for me, and that means a hell of a lot."

He rubbed a hand through his hair.

"You know I'm not good with…words and stuff, but hell…Anthony…you made me proud."

He reddened slightly.

"You got that?"

The moderately gaping expression was not unexpected, but Tony managed to nod his head.

"Tony…get this through your head. I've lived a life. I met the girl, had the beautiful child. You…you have your whole life ahead of you for that, at least you _will_ if you stop gambling with it. There's so much you haven't gotten to do yet…and it would kill me if you never did because of a bad decision, no matter how well intentioned, understand?"

Another shell shocked nod was given, and he continued his uncharacteristic bout of speech.

"I know I don't always practice what I preach. I know that it was one of you lot then…I'd have done the same thing. But…that's part of my job Tony, that's part of me being me and you lot being you. I'm responsible for you guys, not the other way around. It's my place to protect _you,_ you shouldn't be worried about protecting _me,_ do you see?"

Tony shook his head, despite the fact that it was obviously the wrong answer.

"Sorry boss…I don't care what you say, or what you do to me. I'm always going to have your back…whether you like it or not."

The stubborn streak was alight in his eyes and Gibbs knew there was no arguing with him.

"Since when did you get so good at telling me _no_?"

Tony chuckled despite the current situation.

"Since I figured out your bark is a lot worse than your bite…so, a long time ago."

… _I knew I wasn't being paranoid. I_ have _gone totally soft_ Gibbs thought to himself as he surveyed the kid silently.

"I see" he eventually murmured dryly, "I'll have to work on that then."

Both men knew it was an idle threat.

Gibbs' throat suddenly constricted as he thought of the next words he was going to utter. A nervous clamminess was spreading throughout his palms.

"Tony…about…what you saw, that tape…I-"

He was cut off.

"Don't even go there boss" the senior agent interjected firmly "if I ever had a kid, and some…some _animal_ did what that _cretin_ did to your wife and daughter… I'd do the exact same."

He paused.

"A hundred times over."

Gibbs' breath billowed from him with the exertion of its propelling relief. Of course the kid would say that, it was so very _him._

"Thanks Tony" he muttered quietly, "I'd appreciate it if you could keep it just between us…no need for anyone else to be placed in an awkward position about it."

Heavy Italian eyelashes blinked.

"About what?"

Smiling a pain free smile, the boss of the two inclined his head in unspoken gratitude. His earlier fears of being tarred with the same brush as DiNozzo's previous, and dirty, partner being pushed firmly from his mind.

"So…like I said, I get why you did what you did. I do, I really do. That being said…the putting yourself in danger, the sneaking around and the lying are _all_ things I've been through with you before, right?"

Sensing the change from gentle Gibbs to boss mode Gibbs, Tony groaned inwardly.

"Right" he agreed reluctantly.

"…and I thought I made it clear to you on those occasions that there will _never_ be an acceptable reason for playing fast and loose with your own life, am I correct?"

Tony flushed.

Those _occasions_ were still very fresh in his mind.

"Yes boss" he mumbled miserably.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration as he recalled the terrifying fear of that night and the subsequent hospital stay, a tired Jethro reined in his temper.

"What do I have to do Tony? What do I have to do to get it _through_ to you that you are _not_ to take such ridiculous risks? How would you feel if Tim did what you did? Abby, Ziva? How would you feel if they didn't come to you when they needed you, and were nearly _killed_ in the process?"

The squirming instantly kicked in.

The idea of McGee or the girls being in the position he had been in, because they made the same and in hindsight, bad decisions he'd made, gave rise to an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

"I'd hate it" he rasped out slowly, realising what he'd put the man beside him through and feeling his gut churn.

Gibbs could see that the penny had dropped, and he hated himself for forcing Tony to feel what he felt, but if it worked…if it protected him, from himself, it was worth it.

"Not pleasant huh?"

The emerald eyes snapped shut as a strangled "…no boss" was issued.

Knowing he'd made his point, Gibbs pondered for moment before speaking again.

"Tell me what you did wrong" he eventually demanded, albeit quietly.

The groaning was as per custom, and he waited it out patiently.

Licking his dry lips, the younger part of the duo cursed himself for his actions as he replayed them in his mind's eye.

"I…I didn't come to you when they first contacted me. I went to that house several times on my own, and without anyone knowing where I was. I lied to you when you asked me was anything wrong…and I could have been killed because I didn't ask for help when I needed it."

Gibbs stared.

As far as pulling admissions from any of his four went, that was the smoothest one he'd ever seen.

Pride filled him as he took in the fidgeting stance and the downcast eyes.

"Look at me."

The quiet instruction was very slowly obeyed, and green eyes eventually met blue.

"Thank you. I know you're as stubborn as I am, and that makes it hard as hell to admit when you're wrong. So…thank you for that."

A ghost of the usual roguish smile answered him.

"You? Stubborn? Say it ain't so boss?"

Rolling his eyes and gently rapping the kid over the head, Gibbs chewed his lip for a second before coming to his decision.

"You've been here for about two week's right?"

A head nod agreed with that assessment.

"…and you've not been out, free to hang out where and with whom you like etc etc?"

A scowling head nod agreed with that assessment.

"Ok…so given time served, I think you can budget for freedom in another two weeks. Until then, it's here…in all its glory. You're back at work as soon as you're cleared, and then its work and here. Got it?"

The outraged expression had no effect on him as he steadfastly stared at the younger man.

"Got it" Ton eventually ground out, knowing that it could be worse, but hating it all the same.

Pretending not to hear the less than pleasant tone, Gibbs continued.

"You see that box I came in with earlier?"

Raised brows and a "uh huh" assured him that the box had indeed, been seen.

"That's a box of every case you worked as lead when I was in Mexico. Over the next two weeks, I want you to go through every file. I want you to pick at least three things from each that you contributed to the investigation that led to the case being closed. I want it done in two weeks. It's high time you saw in black and white how damned valuable you are. Do you understand?"

Tony choked on his air.

"What? Oh c'mon man, I don't need to do-"

A halting hand was raised.

"I _said,_ do you understand?"

Green eyes flashed dangerously, but a reluctant jerk of the head was eventually proffered.

"Good…that's that settled then." The older man swallowed, hating the next part of the two's discussion more than he cared to admit.

"Stand up Tony."

The order was quiet, gentle and borderline reluctant, but there was no disguising the fact that it _was_ an order.

Gulping, the young agent ran his eyes over his boss' figure and his brows narrowed in confusion.

"Boss? You uhh…you're not uhm, wearing a belt…and" he gestured to his sweats, "neither am I."

Gibbs nodded.

"Yup, don't need one. Now, stand up."

Merely looking his own confusion, Tony unfurled his stance and heaved himself up off his bed and stood uncertainly.

Seeing Gibbs merely scoot back further on the bed cleared up his confusion.

Cleared it _right_ up.

"Oh no" he squawked, backing up rapidly, "no no boss… _c'mon_ please…"

Closing his eyes wearily and wishing he could acquiesce, the older agent simply shook his head and crooked a finger.

"Come here."

Hands were held up in horror as the kid bumped against his dresser in an attempt to back up all the way to China.

"Boss not like that! C'mon…have a heart…."

Sighing, Gibbs stood up and crossed the distance between the two in one step. Taking a firm but not harsh grasp of Tony's upper arm, he guided him back to the edge of the bed.

"This _is_ me having a heart."

With that, he sat himself back down in his vacated spot and within a nanosecond an outraged DiNozzo junior had been pulled smartly over his knee.

Snarling into a mouthful of duvet, Tony felt his cheeks heat up as he considered his current position. Sure, the boss' belt or that infernal paddle hurt a lot more than what was about to occasion his butt, but _still…_ it beat being put over his knee like some unruly teenager.

The heat in his cheeks soared up a few degrees as he felt a cool wind drift over his now bared backside as Gibbs tugged his sweatpants down to his knees.

 _Lord…take me now_ he pleaded internally, as he felt a firm arm wrap its way around his waist.

"This is the last time Tony" the voice echoed above him "this had _better_ be the last time I have to do this for the same reason. You hear me?"

Nodding his head in abject misery, the younger man braced himself for the first swat.

He didn't have to wait long.

A sharp sting made itself known, followed swiftly by back up as Gibbs settled in to the heavily unpleasant task of turning the pale rear end an appreciable shade of crimson.

The room fell silent save for the sounds of brisk swats and the mounting hissing that was escaping their recipient.

He tried…he _really_ did try, he always did. But as the heat began to spread over his butt, Tony couldn't help the whimpering that began to escape him, or the loud yelps that burst from his as a particularly fearsome swat would land.

Given the strength being used, he correctly assumed that Gibbs wasn't holding back and that he wasn't getting up anytime soon.

Gibbs for his part, was hating himself a little more with each searing crack of his hand against the kid's butt. Reminding himself that it was for his own good was little comfort as he heard the increasing sounds of distress waft up from the buried head.

He held Tony a little tighter as he began to squirm involuntarily, in an instinctual attempt to remove his now scarlet backside from the firing line.

With self loathing, Gibbs dropped his knee and tipped Tony forwards slightly to focus his attention on the sensitive sit spots.

The loud yelp that answered him pierced his heart as he forced himself to continue applying a deep shade of red to the boy's tender upper thighs.

As the spanking progressed, the loud signs of discomfort were beginning to whittle into the beginnings of quiet crying. With one or two more particularly well placed swats, the torso began to deflate and the shoulders began to sag.

Wondering if he could hate himself anymore than he currently did, Gibbs continued dishing out the punishment.

When the laying down of a scalding swat broke the dam of stoicism, and Tony began to cry freely across his knee and allow himself to completely lie limp, Gibbs instantly concluded the more emotional than usual spanking.

Tugging the kid closer to him, he ran a gentle hand through the mussed up hair and muttered a string of reassurances with a tone that no one but his four had ever heard.

It took a lot longer than usual for the weeping to dissipate, and Gibbs had expected that, sitting stationary and continuing to card a careful hand through the distressed trestles of hair.

Lifting his face from the tear stained blanket, Tony coughed out the last tear and ran a hand over his red rimmed eyes. Sniffing the last of many sniffles, he raised himself up from his boss' knee and tugged up his sweats, as Gibbs tactfully averted his gaze on some non-existent issue in the floorboards.

Watching his second in command swipe a hand over his flushed face, pushed Gibbs even further into the self appointed monster category.

"You ok son?" he murmured anxiously as the hand dropped and the bleary green eyes looked up at him.

There was a deafening silence as Tony didn't answer him, and Gibbs' pulse began to quicken with his usual insecurities that his lot would hate him for his tough standards.

"Yup. I learned my lesson, no more protecting you. Next time…I'm going to feed you to your angry ex wives when they come knocking."

The older man stared.

Before bursting into laughter and reaching out to pull a very willing Tony into a tight hug.

"You wouldn't do that to me" he chuckled, as he welcomed the familiar relief that was beginning to envelop him.

Eventually wriggling out of the embrace, Tony arched a brow.

"Try me."

Rolling his eyes, Gibbs threw an arm around the kid's shoulders and began gently steering him out the door and back downstairs.

"Just as long as it's not Diane…even I don't deserve that."

Tony's answering laugh was carefree as he allowed himself to be propelled into the kitchen.

As sore as his butt was, the heavy burden that had rested in his stomach for the last two weeks had melted away and he felt light and happy as he very gingerly placed himself at the dining counter.

The anticipated bowl of ice cream was soon slid across the countertop, and he pulled it towards him eagerly.

Swallowing a mouthful of the mint choc chip, he ran an appraising eye over it.

"How much of this would you say I've eaten?" he asked wonderingly, gazing at his now traditional post punishment snack.

Chuckling as he withdrew his head from the freezer, Gibbs shook his head affectionately.

"Enough to know you're allowed to go for that run you wanted to take earlier."

….

TBC

….

A/N: This chapter is ridiculously long. Apologies to those who are put off by lengthy updates, I got carried away. Next chapter is Tim-Centric I think, and then maybe an Eli David appearance? I don't know, let me know what you think, I've no particular plot line in mind!

Hope you guys enjoyed!


	7. Eye Spy

Timothy McGee wasn't a man who glared, usually, but right now his narrowed eyes were being put to full and frank use. Glowering at the doctor in his own consultation room, the agent was simply refusing to accept what he was saying.

The doctor for his part was seriously considering taking early retirement, and not for the first time.

These young people and their _internet_ seemed to have a greater grasp on medicine than him, so why stick around?

He returned the glower, professionalism be damned.

"You must be mistaken" Tim reiterated coldly, "perhaps you could re-examine my file?"

Shaking his head slowly, Doctor Davidson merely flipped open a diagnostic and prescription pad and began writing furiously.

"You can either accept what I am telling you Mr McGee" he muttered, "or you can continue down your current path and risk damaging your sight permanently. I am sure you are wise enough to come to the correct decision."

Tim's glare increased.

"It's _Agent_ McGee" he corrected tersely.

"Quite" Dr Davidson agreed uncaringly, before ripping off the completed prescription and diagnosis and handing it over to a reluctant recipient.

Tim merely stared at the paper that deemed him "unfit for duty" and a "serious long term health risk," and the doctor in equal amounts of disdain.

Growing exasperated Dr Davidson was about to politely ask him to leave when he caught the glint of fear in the young man's eyes and softened.

"Look, Agent McGee" he murmured, "two weeks. That's all it is, you have _got_ to keep your eyes away from bright screens, LED displays as much as possible, for two weeks. Your eyes are _incredibly_ strained, and you're putting them under increasing pressure. I have never seen such a severe case of Asthenopia in all my years."

He paused, hoping he was making some headway.

"The medication I've prescribed you coupled with two weeks resting of the eyes, and you'll be brand new and ready to resume your regular duties."

He paused again, feeling like he in fact was _not_ making _any_ headway.

"I cannot inform your supervisor or your Agency of this condition Agent McGee. You know that. You're also quite intelligent enough to know that if _you_ do not tell them, and either take two weeks leave or have your duties modified, you are putting both yourself and the Agency at risk."

There was a small flicker of realisation in those eyes, or was he imagining it?

"You could cause yourself permanent vision damage, blinding migraines and possibly a complete lack of spacial awareness. It could happen at any time, if you do not rest. I am no Agent, but I would _assume_ that that would be quite dangerous should it occur in the middle of a crime scene?"

About to open his mouth to tell this doctor he had no idea what he was talking about, Tim merely found himself nodding.

Rising, he mumbled a "thank you doctor," before grasping the prescription and hightailing it from the doctor's office.

Out in the brightly lit halls, he felt the familiar stabbing of pain around his eyes and the beginnings of a headache, but he brushed them away. Making his way hurriedly out of the surgery and into the bright DC light, the brushing away became a little harder, but he bit his lip and did it.

Stuffing the prescription/doctor's note into his pocket with a mental note to fill it before the close of business today, he hurried back to his car, checking his watch as he went.

He'd been out to follow a lead and decided to work his doctor's appointment into it so as not to alert Gibbs that anything was wrong with him.

He swallowed as he swung the car into gear.

He had basically lied.

Three times.

The first two times had been when he'd stupidly flinched in Gibbs' presence when a particular glaring scene battered his senses from the bull pen plasma. When immediately asked what was wrong with him, he had lied without hesitation and pretended his shoulder was still stinging from the takedown of the less that cooperative perp yesterday.

Then again, today, when Tony had quietly pulled him to one side and asked was everything ok. He smiled slightly as he'd recalled how disarmed he'd been when DiNozzo had asked without even the suggestion of mockery.

He had lied then, as well. Feeding the senior agent the same line about his shoulder.

Easing his car into DC traffic, he sighed heavily.

In normal circumstances perhaps he would have taken the doctor's advice and had himself placed on modified duty. He could easily help Abby with the paperwork based side of her job.

…but they weren't in normal circumstances, and the killer they were chasing in their latest investigation couldn't wait whilst he rested his pretty eyes.

Gritting his teeth, he steered the car back in the direction of the Navy Yard. With the passing of ten more minutes, and several self disparaging thoughts, he was swinging into his allotted parking space.

Barrelling past security checks, he composed himself before entering the squad room, praying that Gibbs would be on a coffee run.

He'd taken nearly three hours to chase down an hour's worth of lead, and he was hoping to ease back in without being seen.

No such joy.

Blue eyes tracked him from the first toe passed into the squad room, and watched silently as he eased around his desk.

Taking a swig from his seventh coffee, Gibbs continued to stare silently before speaking quietly, causing Tony and Ziva to wince along with Tim.

The quieter the boss was, the angrier he was.

"Where you been, McGee?"

It was a simple question, that should have posed no problem for a MIT grad, but for the life of him Tim couldn't formulate an off the cuff answer if his life depended on it.

"McGee?"

The eyebrow was arched, the panic set into Tim's stomach as he thought rapidly.

Why hadn't he come up with a range of excuses during the car ride? Was this eye problem affecting his _brain_ now?

"Uhh, I got distracted talking to the witness boss" he garbled, "she uhh…she lost her husband recently and is pretty lonely I guess, I got sidetracked…"

The dangerous glare being levelled at him now would surely be enough to knock over the stoutest of oxen.

"That right?" Gibbs murmured quietly, having walked to McGee's desk in the midst of his explanation, shooting dire warning glares and DiNozzo and Ziva, who promptly got back to work.

Paling slightly at the sudden closeness, Tim nodded, feeling waves of nausea bounce inside him as he did so.

"Yes boss" the young man lied quietly, feeling sicker and sicker.

This was _not_ the ideal situation, and it didn't help that his screen had flickered on and its glare was causing his eyes to nearly water with pain.

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully, staring intently at his junior agent.

He was lying.

That much was a given.

He also seemed…off.

Not himself.

Dropping the pissed off boss routine, he perched on the side of McGee's desk and softened his gaze, which was quite the feat given his stance on being lied to.

"Everything alright with you Tim?" he asked gently, his voice low so that only he and the tech genius could hear.

There was a stagnant silence for a moment as McGee battled the instinct to just tell the truth.

Sure Gibbs would be annoyed that he hadn't told him from the get go and be pissed that he had lied, but he'd get over it pretty quickly.

He hadn't put himself in any real danger yet.

The real danger, if the doctor was correct, was tonight. The night they were holding the stake out and take down. Where he would be both manning the technological side of the intelligence gathering, before being fully involved in the arrest.

If there was ever a time to come clean, it was now.

…but he didn't.

Looking back, he would come to regret that simple decision more than he could ever believe possible.

"Fine boss, just got distracted. That was my bad, won't happen again."

The lies slipped from his mouth like acid and he winced internally with every syllable.

Lying to Gibbs was like lying to no other. He fought to keep his eyes round and honest, and to maintain a natural level of eye contact.

He _had_ to be involved tonight.

Where were they going to get another Agent this late in the game, with the requisite tech experience?

If he pulled out, if he cried off sick, the operation was in jeopardy.

He couldn't let that happen.

…wouldn't let that happen.

On the other side of the desk a brain was working overtime.

His junior agent was lying, and as much as that angered him, it concerned him even more.

His people very, very rarely lied to him. They frankly knew better. So, on the odd occasion that they did…something bad always happened. Without fail. Looking at the badly concealed jittery stance of the kid in front of him, this was one of those times.

Even Gibbs however, would never dream that he was being lied to about a matter so important as fitness for duty.

It didn't cross his mind that Tim, or any of them, would ever lie about something like that.

He therefore, assumed, wrongly, that the lie was of a personal nature and the kid had taken a detour on Agency time to attend to said personal matter.

He weighed the pros and cons of forcing information out of Tim, and the cons outweighed the pros. He needed the kid to be at the utmost top of his game tonight, he was perhaps their most valuable player in tonight's highly volatile, highly unpredictable game.

Deciding to press the issue in tomorrow's light, by maybe taking Tim to lunch, he nodded and stood up.

"Don't let it happen again" he said lightly, and frowned slightly as the young man nodded his head in fervent relief.

Tapping the side of his cup, he decided to ask once more, just to make sure.

"You positive you don't want to tell me something Tim?" he asked, in that same gentle tone and the quiet voice, knowing that the younger Agent wouldn't exactly be thrilled about spilling his guts to the entire bull pen.

"Just spit it out if there is" he continued in the same tone that if Vance were to hear him use with his Agents', he'd keel over in surprise.

The common sense that he possessed was screaming at him to tell Gibbs the truth.

That he wasn't fit for duty. That he wasn't physically passable for tonight's all important take down. That the now feeble light emitting from his monitor was manifesting itself in a piercing pain inside his skull.

"No boss, I'm fine."

Gibbs suppressed a sigh and nodded.

"Get yourself ready for tonight then, the whole case hinges on it."

With that, he swept back to his own desk, leaving Tim to breathe a sigh of muted relief, and to ignore the raised eyebrows and questioning gazes being sent to him by his teammates.

Focussing his gaze on his screen, biting his lip to keep from wincing in pain, Tim got to work.

The prescription in his pocket long forgotten about.

Six to seven hours later saw Team Gibbs set up in the back of a nondescript, Agency van. Monitors adorned the metal walls, and with each pixilation Tim was growing more and more disconcerted.

The pain in his eyes was causing them to water, and him to blink rapidly.

The thudding in his head was at a thunderous level.

His throat burned with the effort of suppressing natural sounds of pain.

He was thankful he had his back to the team as they trained guns from the tinted windows. Blinking once more, he tracked the images of the men in the downtown restaurant as closely as he possibly could.

There was silence in the van, as each team member focussed on their appointed task.

Sweat was now tricking down Tim's collar as the pain increased in direct correlation to the amount of monitors he was observing.

They seemed to be growing brighter and brighter, their glow decimating his fragile senses.

His lip now oozed small droplets of blood as he continued to gnaw down on it to keep from drawing unwanted attention to himself.

…but in the blink of an eye, it was redundant.

A burst of seismic level pain suddenly erupted in his head, as he let out a wounded yelp and fell to the metal floor of the van.

He was blinded, he couldn't see a thing only a stark white brightness as he writhed on the ground from the sickening agony.

He dimly felt hands clutch at him, warm in their touch, and vaguely registered frantic voices overhead.

…and just as suddenly as it had appeared, the dazzling brightness dissipated and the pain receded to hammering, but borderline tolerable levels.

Blinking and gasping, he shrugged off the hands that held him on his side and rolled over onto his back.

Faces swam above him, sharpening in focus with every blink.

Ziva, Tony and Gibbs all looked positively terrified as they stared down at him, mouths practically agape.

"Tim?" their boss whispered, regaining his composure first, "what the hell is the matter? What's wrong with you?"

McGee shook his head side to side, and tried to get up, before being firmly, but carefully pushed back down again.

He was about to answer, before being sharply cut off.

"What's that you have DiNozzo? Gibbs suddenly barked, sounding much more like himself, and eying his senior agent sternly.

Tony blanched as he tried to stuff the paper into his pocket.

"What? Uhh…nothing boss, just my uhm…"

He was cut off, with an outstretched hand.

"Give it to me."

Tony paled some more, as did Tim, whilst Ziva merely looked utterly perplexed as her eyes roamed the three men.

"Boss, I-"

Gibbs glared.

"Don't make me headslap you into your grave DiNozzo. Give it to me, _now."_

Wincing, and knowing the battle was lost, Tony held out the paper he had quickly retrieved and scanned from the floor of the van.

His eyes found the floor and he found himself suddenly a man of god, as he prayed for his soon to be dead teammate.

Blue eyes flew across the crumpled up paper, becoming more and more glacial with each word processed.

His next words were just as icy.

"You two" the team leader ground out "continue the operation, call for back up from the on call unit. Have them here in the next thirty minutes, and do not leave this van until they are both with you and are fully appraised of the situation. You got it?"

Male and female heads nodded, their eyes wide.

Without further adieu, Gibbs stooped and in contrast to his angry tones, very gently and softly picked Tim up off the floor.

Holding him firmly as he swayed slightly, he scanned the outside of the van's stationary spot, and quickly opened the door.

Half guiding, half carrying, he carefully excised Tim from the van and held him beside him as he spoke to the other two.

"I want by the minute accounts, understood?"

A "yes boss" and a "yes Gibbs" rang out, before Tony quickly added "where are you taking him?"

A look of disbelief was shot into the van, as the eldest member ran a gaze over a sickly McGee.

"Hospital."

Tim interjected feebly, finding the change in lighting disorientating.

"Boss, no, I don't need to go to-"

Gibbs glared in interruption, as all three younger members of the team winced in response.

"By the time I'm finished with _you,_ you might very well be _glad_ of a hospital Timothy McGee."

….

TBC

….


	8. The Alternative Exit

Munching bemusedly on a particularly crunchy apple and ambling by the glass panelled ER, a sympathetic look suddenly adorned a consultant's face.

Followed closely by a grimace of sheer alarm.

The apple stuck in his throat as he spluttered in surprised indignation. Surely he couldn't be expected to endure any more of this man.

Throwing the core into a nearby bin, he composed himself.

Carefully opening the staff entrance so as not to gain notice, he gesticulated frantically to a colleague who dutifully trotted over, eyebrows raised.

"Please… _please_ tell me that _that_ patient's lungs are as healthy as humanly possible? I beg you?" he ground out anxiously, deliberately keeping his voice down low.

The attending doctor followed his gaze and laughed quietly.

"You talking about the federal grizzly bear and his cub?" the generalist queried, to the background of fervent nodding.

Flipping through a stack of charts, still chuckling, he shook his head.

"Nope. No lung involvement, it's all in the eyes with this one."

Exhaling in poorly concealed relief, the doctor who had treated Tony a few mere months ago patted his colleague on the back in sympathy.

"Good luck….you're going to need it" he grinned, before darting out of the emergency room with a speed that potentially defied his build, leaving an utterly bemused doctor in his wake.

Lumbering back into the waiting room, and getting ready to call another patient, the young attending suddenly found himself with a face full of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"We've been here for three hours now, and he still hasn't been seen by anyone. Should I just go ahead and pour some WD-40 in his eyes, or do you people feel like treating him?"

The doctor blinked. Glancing down at the relevant chart, he recovered, albeit slowly.

"Mr Gibbs-"

" _Agent_ Gibbs."

Licking his lips slightly nervously, the medic nodded quickly. "Right" he agreed, "Agent Gibbs…we're working as fast as we can here. We're quite busy, and patients are assessed on a needs basis."

He paused, glancing behind this glaring man to assess the younger one that lolled in the chair, eyes closed.

"Right now, other patients are in more urgent need."

He concluded his speech with an air of confidence, born out of an Ivy League schooling and a natural affinity with words.

He then choked on that Ivy League schooling and that natural affinity for words as a glare that would melt the polar caps was swiftly sent his way.

The icy blue stare went right through the handsome doctor's soul, and the slowly arching eyebrow was an unspoken threat in its own right. Remembering his colleague's words spoken only moments beforehand, he came to a different conclusion.

"You know, I think we might just have an opening."

He swallowed as the left eyebrow joined the right in climbing, unspoken aggression.

"Now. We have an opening… now." He blinked as the eyebrows began a descent. "I'll see to him myself."

With that, he called "Timothy McGee" in a more confident voice than he would have supposed to exit him, and led the way to the nearest examination room. His knees nearly buckled with relief when the patient murmured to his rather terrifying companion that he didn't require his presence with him.

Easing the way into a brightly lit examination room, which caused Tim's eyes to immediately water, he quickly dimmed them so far as practicable.

Feeling a lot more like a board certified member of the medical profession, away from the glare and the silent communications of his patients…whatever he was, he ran a gaze over the young man.

His eyes instantly widened despite himself.

"That's the worst case"-

He was cut off, by a miserable croaking voice.

"You've ever seen" Tim finished flatly, "yeah, so I've heard."

Grabbing a pen torch, he gently tipped McGee's head upwards and shone it into his wounded eyes. Murmuring apologies for the instant and unavoidable whimper of pain, his frown deepened.

Re-examining the chart, he felt his eyebrows contract ever further.

"Your admission form says you were on active duty in your capacity as an agent…a few _hours_ ago?" he queried in disbelief.

"Surely you were advised to take up immediate rest?"

The patient suddenly dropped his pained gaze and shrugged his shoulders somewhat. Staring in confusion for a few moments, a light of comprehension suddenly dawned in the generalists eyes.

"Oh…" he mumbled sympathetically, "is that why uhh…I mean…"

Tim couldn't help but grin wryly at the doctor's thinly veiled observations.

"Is that why my boss is so pissed?"

Laughing somewhat, the doctor nodded as he scribbled in McGee's chart. "Well yeah, he _does_ seem a bit…erm, excitable."

It was Tim's turn to laugh, though given the day's occurrences he couldn't believe that the sounds of joviality were coming from _his_ mouth.

"You have no idea."

Believing the statement in a heartbeat, the attending set about checking his patients pulse and listening to his heart.

The frown lines deepened.

Assessing the chart and assessing the temperature and the rapid heartbeat of the young agent, the doctor sighed somewhat.

"I'm afraid you should have listened to the advice you were given earlier" he murmured gravely, "you've considerably exacerbated the condition of your eyes. Your heartbeat is irregular from the strain you've put on your body, and your temperature would indicate that your immune system is struggling because the stress you've placed on yourself has weakened it."

Silence rang around the room as Tim gawped slightly.

"Ok" he mumbled nervously, "but all I have to do is take two weeks off and work on paper files right? Then I'll be good as new?"

Biting his lip, the medic reaffirmed his conclusions from the chart and from his examination and shook his head slowly.

"I'm afraid you're most likely looking at a three-four week _complete_ removal from the workplace. You need to be on a much stronger dosage of medication, as well as a new strain of medication to alleviate some of the damage you've done to your eyes."

Eyes bulged in the patient's chair.

"Three-four weeks" Tim squawked, "I _cannot_ be out of work for nearly a month. Are you _crazy?"_

The doctor sighed.

"Listen" he began as gently as possible, "your actions today, your exposure…had that been for even ten or so minutes longer, you could have been looking at irreversible damage to your vision."

He felt his face soften at the horrified look on his patients face.

"You could have needed surgery. As it is, you're quite fortunate. Take the time off as I tell you, and you _will_ be fine. Don't…and the next time I, or any of my colleagues see you, you might not see _us_ so well."

He paused in his diagnosis, scratching out prescriptions and work notes.

Tim watched in abject misery as he wrote.

 _Three to four weeks leave of absence required. Actions and duties of employment of the last twenty four hours greatly exacerbated condition. Optical operative intervention very narrowly avoided. Full and total withdrawal from electronic devices and bright lights/environments required._

He tore his gaze away as a list of medications made their way down on the paper.

Tearing the slips off with a flourish, the doctor handed them to a very reluctant recipient.

"In order for your Agency healthcare to cover all costs, you need to have that form signed by your immediate supervisor and retuned within three to four working days, and-"

He was cut off. With a squeak.

"This?" Tim yelped, brandishing the form that essentially stated his involvement in the nights operation had nearly cost him full or partial vision, and that he required an additional two weeks leave because of his subterfuge.

"You need to me to have my boss sign _this?"_

The attending nodded slowly, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Yes" he clarified slowly, "I do. Preferably now, when you leave as your boss is conveniently here. It would really speed up the process, and ensure there is no delay in your treatment or errors in billing."

The remaining words that fell from his mouth were lost to Timothy McGee as he sat in a pool of his own misery based of his own stupidity.

Giving Gibbs that form would be the same as handing an executioner his own death warrant.

He rose without feeling it, and shook the medics hand without knowing it.

Stumbling out the door, he immediately caught sight of Gibbs' back, still taut with tension.

The man was facing away from him.

His eyes flickered to the back entrance of the emergency room that let to the car lot, and down the form he held clamped in a sweaty hand.

He couldn't.

As he looked at his boss' back, he knew, he just couldn't.

Not now.

Not when he was already feeling so miserable. His tired, pained eyes did one more intake of Gibbs, the alternate exit and the now clammy form.

His feet moved of their own volition. Guiding him, propelling him…projecting him towards that alternate exit.

Within the blink of an eye and the exhaling of a tense breath, he sidestepped out of the electronic doors and breathed in the balmy night air, its gentle breeze soothing on his stinging face.

Turning at the sounds of the rather loud doors, Gibbs raised a brow at the empty corridor.

Throwing himself back around and staring aimlessly at a magazine in his hand he found himself muttering under his breath, to the alarm of the lady next to him.

"What are they _doing_ in there."

….

TBC

…

A/N: Again, no medical knowledge possessed at all! It's all a fiction, and probably makes no medical sense but it fits for the story! (I also wrote this, whilst bored, on my lunch hour so no time to run through as usual, I'll check and fix mistakes later)


	9. Runaway Return

Sitting by the still warm fireplace, a very tired, wearied and downright fed up Gibbs felt his eyes droop of their own accord. It had been five hours now since Tim had slipped past him at the hospital. Five hours since the stuttering, stammering doctor had assured him that he had discharged his patient.

He had driven around looking for him, cursing the fact that his cell was still in the undercover van where it had fallen during the stakeout. He knew the kid wouldn't go to his apartment, and he had obtained cast iron assurances from his other three that the junior agent wasn't with them.

The sensible part of him knew that the young agent would turn up when he was ready, but his gut still churned at the thoughts of him being god knows where, with god knows who, with potentially impaired vision and an unfilled prescription.

He had tried everywhere and everything he could think of, but sitting uselessly by the fireplace was not his style and it grated on his every nerve. It was freezing out there, and when he'd last seen him, Tim had certainly not been dressed for the harsh DC elements.

Forcing himself not to close his eyes, he stared aimlessly at the western that was mutedly playing in the corner of the room.

If someone had offered him a million dollars, he couldn't tell them a single thing about it, despite having been staring in its direction for the last hour.

Just as he thought he could take the anxiety no more, a very timid, gentle knock came at his front door.

So relieved was he that he didn't even think to holler in exasperation that the door was never locked, Gibbs leapt up from his seat and wrenched the door open. His frown instantly deepened as he took in the worrisome state of his caller.

Without a word, he quickly, but gently, reached out and pulled in a shivering Tim, hustling him into the warm living room as fast as possible. Grabbing a blanket from the couch, he draped it around the chattering kid's shoulders, before steering him into a sitting position.

"Boss" he stuttered through the cold, "I'm sorry, I'm-"

Gibbs held up a hand to silence him, as blue eyes drank in every aspect of the younger man's appearance. He appeared, on visual appraisal, to be in no worse a condition than he had been before he had left the hospital.

…before apparently spending five hours in just jeans a t-shirt in the freeing DC winter.

"Have you been outside all this time?" he asked anxiously, knowing in his gut that he had.

A stiff jerk of the head was offered, and Gibbs felt his worry levels rise as he sighed. Straightening up, he looked down at the pale agent.

"Stay here" he commanded, "I'll be back in a second."

Before Tim could answer, the elder man had spun on his heel and made his way upstairs and into the room McGee and DiNozzo crashed in when they stayed.

Quickly rooting around, he found the heaviest sweatshirt and track ends he could find. Gathering them up in his arms, he made his way back downstairs within moments.

Passing the thick clothes to a silent McGee, he flicked on the thermostat above his head. In about ten minutes, the house would be roasting.

"Get changed into those Tim" he instructed softly, "I'm just going to grab you something warm to eat and drink."

Once again, he was gone before the recent arrival could formulate a response, which was perhaps fortunate, because no response was forthcoming.

Feeling his stomach writhe with an all too familiar guilt, Tim slowly set about changing into the offered clothing, feeling a small stab of relief as he pulled off his near frozen garments.

He hated that Gibbs was being so nice to him, and he hated the fact that he knew he would be. After all he did, the older man still freaked out about his health before anything else.

Changing successfully, he threw his winter fused clothes in a ball beside the couch and curled up in a contrite ball of misery.

He'd somehow managed to take an already desperate situation, and make it ten times worse.

He'd wanted to show up hours ago, but he just couldn't do it.

About to launch into another self chastising diatribe, he was interrupted by the re entrance of a laden down Gibbs.

Spying the hot milk that was his guilty pleasure, and the salami and cheese sandwich that was also his trademark snack, he felt the regret bubble viciously to the surface.

Accepting the plate and cup instinctively, he looked down miserably. Misreading the origin of the look of distress, Gibbs thought rapidly.

"I think I have a pizza instead" he began, before being cut off by a violent head shake.

"No" Tim mumbled sheepishly, "this is perfect…thanks."

Nodding wordlessly, Gibbs flopped down beside his wayward ward, relatively limp with relief that he was safe and accounted for. He sat silently as he took a tentative bite of his sandwich, before wolfing it down and downing the hot milk a few moments later.

When the empty plate and cup was set down, he smiled slightly despite himself.

"Better?"

Tim smiled a small smile back, also despite himself, and nodded.

"Better."

Nodding almost absentmindedly, Gibbs checked the time on the clock. Frowning, he realised it probably _was_ too late to call Ducky.

"You don't need to call him" Tim suddenly muttered, "I'm honestly fine."

Startled slightly by the kid's omniscience, the elder of the two appraised him steadily. He was telling the truth. Exhaling slightly, he nodded in acceptance but made a mental note to call Ducky first thing anyway.

He then reached out, and carefully, and gently, rapped McGee upside the head. Had Tony been present, he would have baulked at what he termed the "soft touch."

"Don't you _ever_ do this to me again, you hear?"

After a slight squirm, his junior agent nodded earnestly. "I'm really-"

Once again, Gibbs cut him off. Firmly.

"Not now Tim. We're not talking about any of this now, or tomorrow, or the next day. You are going to _do_ what the doctor told you and rest. Starting now actually, you must be exhausted and its late."

He stood, and gently pulled the young man up from the couch by the upper arm.

"Bed."

Feeling the same bout of unresolved issues as Tony had, McGee stood uncertainly rooted to the spot. He sure as hell didn't want to even think about the…discussion, he was likely to have with his boss about this latest fiasco, but at the same time, he didn't want it hanging over him.

Opening his mouth slowly in some sort of attempt to articulate these conflicting thoughts, he was once again beaten to it.

"I know" Gibbs said, with a surprising gentleness, "but now is not the time. All I care about right now, is making sure you get better."

He allowed himself a wry grin that he knew would make the kid feel slightly better, in an odd way.

"When you're better, and _only_ when you're better, _then_ we can talk about how long you don't get to sit for. How's that?"

It worked.

Snorting somewhat, Tim nodded. He didn't know how, nor could he explain it if asked, but it was almost as if the promise of a sore behind was Gibbs' gruff way of letting him know it would all be ok.

"Guess that's fair" he mumbled in response, barely stifling a yawn.

Rolling his eyes, the elder of the two began gently propelling him in the direction of the stairs. "Fair indeed" he murmured dryly as a now very sleepy junior agent bade him good night.

"Night Tim" he responded quietly, before throwing himself down on the couch the sounds of a bedroom door being softly closed.

Within seconds, sleep gripped him and he succumbed to its lure.

Upstairs, the same scenario was taking place, and within five minutes the now warm house was filled with duelling snores.

The suns gentle rays fell on his face quicker than he would have perhaps liked, and he rolled off the couch, stretching his stiff limbs.

Glancing at the time, he was relieved to see it was only five thirty. Coffee requirements gripped him, and he lumbered into the kitchen to set a pot to brew.

An hour or so later saw him coffee fuelled, showered and eating breakfast. The warm dish of hot foot sat in the middle of the table as his houseguest eventually meandered into the room.

"Morning boss" Tim yawned, as he threw himself down in his usual spot, "this all for me?"

Rolling his eyes with a mouthful of toast, Gibbs nodded and swallowed.

"Yup. Eat, drink, and then get dressed. We need to run to the drug store to fill your script before I go to work."

Tim frowned.

"You know, I can easily work with Abby and-"

Gibbs' gaze wandered meaningfully to the drawer in which a very familiar, much detested wooden spoon resided and Tim instantly backpedalled.

"Or…or I could just uhh, chill here…"

Throwing down some more coffee, Gibbs nodded a silent approval, glad his idle threat had been sufficient.

The kid could practically do what he wanted right now, and he wouldn't bust his butt. Not when he wasn't in the full of his health.

…but there was no harm in him _believing_ he would.

The passage of an hour or so saw Gibbs dropping Tm back off at his home, with stern instructions not to touch the television, or anything electronic. To sleep as much as possible, and to call on the landline if he needed anything.

The ultra high spec cell had already been unceremoniously deposited in safe keeping.

The protests that he didn't need to be treated like a three year old died in Tim's throat as he caught the icy quality that suddenly flashed in response.

Meandering back into the house as the car sped off, he sighed in frustration. He felt naked without his phone, and he really just wanted to laze about and watch an entire series of something utterly mindless.

Knowing that doing so would be perhaps the last stupid decision he would ever make, he settled for working his way into the living room and grabbing a book from a collection he had left on previous…residences.

After throwing down the first of a daily regimen of drugs, and squeezing viscous drops into his eyes, he threw himself down on the couch with a bulky novel and resigned himself to the day of anti-technology drudgery that lay before him.

With the passing of a few hours, he had to admit, it wasn't all that bad.

His eyes weren't watering as much as they had yesterday, and though it felt alien to him, it also felt nice to be secluded from technology. He read, uninterrupted by the beeping of phones, or the whirring of computers.

It was…well, it was nice as a matter of fact.

Morning light had come and gone, and the house was now being bathed in afternoon and pre evening glows. Feeling his stomach rumble, he padded out into the kitchen. Gulping the next round and squeezing the next drops of his medication, he yanked open the fridge door.

He sighed.

How did Gibbs even _stay alive?_

All that remained was beer and there was a single slice of leftover pizza. Eying it dubiously, he carefully excised it and threw it in the trash. Trying the cupboards next, he rolled his eyes.

Coffee.

 _Lots_ of coffee, and not much else.

The nearby store was only a couple of blocks away. He didn't need a car, and the day was pleasant and balmy. The fact that the was pretty much confined to chez Gibbs was an unspoken fact, but…food was an exception surely.

Gibbs _had_ left food out for him for his lunch, but if he ate that, there'd be nothing for the older man when he got in from work.

Making his decision, Tim made it up to his and Tony's room, and grabbed a jacket and his wallet. A few minutes later saw him drinking in the very pleasant, breezy day.

He took his time, enjoying the peace. When he got to the store, he quickly set about sourcing sustenance that both he and Gibbs could eat, the latter part of the equation having _the_ most unexciting diet Tim had ever seen.

Grabbing a six pack of beer before he queued, he felt his face grow slightly warm as the elderly checkout lady eyed him dubiously before asking for ID. Grateful that his creds went everywhere _he_ went, he had to chuckle when he saw the utterly bemused expression on the lady's face.

Struggling under the weight of three _very_ heavy bags, he reached Gibbs' porch about twenty minutes later and fumbled as he tried to open it.

He needn't have bothered.

It was suddenly wrenched open from the inside, revealing a _highly_ irate looking Jethro. One bag was relieved of him, as his boss used his other one to steer him rather forcefully inside.

Dropping the stacks on the kitchen table, he turned with a glower.

"I _would_ ask _where_ you have _been"_ he growled, "but its pretty obvious."

Still startled by the early arrival home, Tim opened his mouth hesitantly.

"Sorry boss" he eventually mumbled, "its just…you don't really have any, uhm, non liquid food. So I went to get some. I thought…I thought I could make us dinner."

He ducked his head, as a slightly embarrassed flush worked its way across his cheeks. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his boss' hand moving, and braced himself for a headslap.

The light ruffling of his hair was therefore a welcome surprise.

Chuckling, Gibbs nodded his thanks.

"Sorry Tim" he apologised uncharacteristically, "just given your recent Houdini act, when I got back and you weren't here…"

McGee looked back up and grinned.

"You'd thought I'd done a runner?" he surmised knowingly, as Gibbs rolled his eyes and nodded.

"For a moment" he confessed with a grin, "so, how're you feeling? Did you take your medication like you were supposed to?"

Shrugging off his light jacket, Tim nodded as he set about gathering ingredients for dinner. "Yes, and I managed to go to the bathroom _all_ by _myself_ too" he grumbled sardonically.

This time, when he caught his boss' hand moving, it _was_ a headslap.

…but a very gentle one.

"Smartass" Gibbs scolded half heartedly, as he eyed the ingredients his protégée of sorts was lining up and assessing.

"Uhh…what are you thinking of making Tim?" he asked cautiously, recognising only one of the eight food items spreading across his table.

Looking up enthusiastically, with a bouncing light in his eyes, McGee set Gibbs' qualms into overdrive.

"Hungarian Goulash" he answered happily, "with a vegetable bed and a side of red quinoa."

Nodding faintly, the elder of the two forced himself to look thrilled by this news, in the wake of a now very happy looking patient.

He'd…he'd force himself to eat it.

"Sounds great" he commented as truthfully as he could, not ever having heard of this _Goulash_ before, but being strongly reminded of the many chemicals stored in Duck's autopsy suite.

"Ok, shoo," McGee suddenly ordered, "I need space to make this happen."

Not even having the heart to baulk at being ordered out his own kitchen, by a kid that was in a world of trouble, Gibbs found himself laughing softly and obeying.

Heading down to the basement, he amused himself for an hour or two before being excitedly summoned back to…what _was_ his pristine kitchen.

Which now looked like a testing site for a bomb making lab.

Forcing himself to look very tempted by the…the plate that was being set in front of him, Gibbs offered his thanks and eyed his dish tentatively.

It still looked alive.

He sampled a small bite.

It _tasted_ alive.

Seeing an anxious, sauce streaked face peering at him for an opinion, he ordered his facial muscle to contract into an encouraging smile.

"This is great…really great, Tim."

The answering smile he received was worth it, but as the young man turned back to the cooker Gibbs firmly reminded himself to get a dog.

A hungry dog.

The meal passed in a haze of happy chatter, and a burning sensation in Gibbs' stomach, as the two chatted easily about the most recent case the team had caught. The team lead was careful to not touch upon the pretty substantial technical element of the investigation.

He knew how guilty his junior agent already felt, there was no need to make it worse. An hour or so later saw the kitchen returned to some semblance of normality, and the two agents panned out in front of a comfortably fire, reading.

Just as he was wondering if the taste would every truly leave his mouth, Jethro's thoughts were interrupted.

"How mad are you?"

The tentative question carried a sense of urgency, and Gibbs grimaced as he felt a wave of déjà vu strike him.

Why did Tony and Tim have to be alike at times?

Turning to face the younger man, Gibbs ran a hand over his face and pondered his words. God, he really hated words.

"I thought I told you we would discuss all that when you were back up and running?"

Tim frowned.

"I know, but-"

"No buts."

The frown turned to a grimace as Tim shook his head stubbornly.

"Boss, c'mon…would _you_ like it if Mike Franks kept a hand on your life support machine, ready to pull the chord at any given time?"

Gibbs stared, and then burst out into laughter.

"Let me tell you something kid" he chuckled, "if _I_ pulled _half_ the stunts you four do with me, with _him,_ there would _be_ no life support machine. Figurative or otherwise."

Rolling his eyes with a slight smirk, a muttered "whatever" was given in answer, which just made Gibbs laugh all the more.

Sobering up, he realised that the younger man was still waiting for an answer, and grimaced himself.

He hated this part of being a…well, this part.

"I'm mad" he admitted quietly, "but I'm more concerned with you getting back to a clean bill of health."

Tim nodded slowly, but kept his gaze trained on his boss.

"Can we just get it over with?" he asked miserably, once again reminding the elder agent forcible of his second in command.

Shaking his head sternly, but with an understanding expression, Gibbs held firm.

"When have I ever punished you, or any of you, when you've been injured?"

Tim bit his lip and didn't answer.

"Well?"

Squirming a bit, the mumbled "never" eventually made it way out of a reluctant Tim.

"Precisely."

Recognising defeat, Tim sank back into his chair and rubbed a hand over tired eyes. Instantly regretting his action, as a pain spiked in response, he yelped involuntarily.

Eventually opening watering eyes, he wasn't surprised to find a now standing Gibbs looking at him anxiously.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Tim reached for the drops beside his chair. Squeezing them in, he instantly felt a cool sensation and breathed deeply in relief.

"Not meant to touch them unnecessarily" he explained sheepishly, "I'm fine, the drops help a lot. They're great."

Slightly mollified, Gibbs remained standing and glanced at the clock. "Ok, why don't you go on and take your last two pills, and then head up to bed."

Just like Tony had, Tim scowled. Before he could open his mouth and get himself into trouble, Gibbs held up a hand.

"Wasn't a suggestion."

Nodding angrily, the young man heaved himself up with an agitated grace, and brushed roughly past a calmly watching Gibbs.

"I'd lose the attitude, if I were you Tim" he rebuked softly, and instantly saw the softening of the taut shoulders in response.

"Losing the attitude boss" came the quiet reply, and Gibbs smiled wryly. A few minutes later saw McGee padding up the stairs and wishing the team lead a good night.

…and that was the routine that was followed for the next two to three weeks.

Gibbs would go to work, argue with a growingly irate Tim about _not_ going to work, before rinsing and repeating the next day.

It wasn't as if the older man couldn't _see_ that the younger one was healing rapidly. His aversion to bright lights had been dramatically reduced. He was quite able to rub his eyes with no adverse effects and his migraines were nearly a thing of the past.

But still the cell wasn't returned, and the television remained off limits. Calls to the doctor had assured him that this was no longer necessary, but…well, he didn't like doctors.

He needed to be sure.

As a balmy Saturday dawned however, even Gibbs had to conceded that the kid was now fighting fit. His complexion was back to normal, his eyes danced as normal and his restlessness had returned to normal levels.

As intensely relieved and as happy as these facts made him, they also filled him with dread.

That dread was increased as a t-shirt and jeans clad Tim threw himself down at the breakfast table, and instead of usual morning smile, he was wearing a look of grave seriousness.

"You know that I'm better right?" he greeted, instead of the usual "morning boss," and Gibbs had to conceded that yes, he did know.

"So can we just get this damned thing over and done with?"

The Marine frowned.

"I know you're not a morning person, but that attitude will _not_ help your case" he scolded firmly, throwing down the dregs of his coffee as Tim made a start on his own breakfast.

Tilting his head in an unspoken apology, to which Gibbs nodded an acceptance, the young man began wolfing down his waffles.

When the plate had been scraped clean, a familiar knot formed in a reluctant Jethro's stomach. He couldn't avoid it, it _was_ time.

"Ok…" he began, hiding his own misery, "go to your room. I'll follow you up."

A slightly horrified expression crossed Tim's face, before the chair screeched backwards and he obeyed.

Taking his time in clearing the dishes, Gibbs continued to argue with himself. He didn't want to do it, he _really_ didn't want to do it, but…he knew he had to. He had tried to cop out and go with a lesser punishment…but what if something like this were to happen again? He'd never forgive himself.

Drying his hands off, he groaned to himself and leant over the kitchen sink as he wrestled with himself.

The stoic part of him won out over the emotional, and he made his way out of the kitchen and up to Tony and Tim's room, making a slight detour as he went.

Within a few moments, he was knocking on the door and being called in.

He blinked as he entered. Déjà vu was once again engulfing him. A morose looking Tony had been seated on the first bed a few months ago, and now, an equally morose looking Tim sat on the second bed.

Closing the door quietly, Gibbs swallowed down his own self hatred as he saw the wide eyed, horrified expression crossing Tim's face as he spied the object he was carrying.

Sitting down beside his junior agent, and placing the much loathed paddle in his lap, Gibbs arched a brow in the junior agent's direction.

"Be careful what you wish for and all that" he muttered, as he steeled himself to have a very unpleasant conversation.

"You asked me before if I was mad" he began quietly, "and you're right, I am, I'm furious. You deliberately concealed this from me, you deliberately jeopardised your _health_ and…" he swallowed, "you put Tony and Ziva in danger."

Tim choked.

"What do you mean?" he spluttered in confusion, "how did I put-"

Gibbs held up a hand.

"You always have to have your partners six. Always, always, _always._ You know what's helpful in that situation Tim? Being able to _see,_ that's _very_ helpful. Being able to go through an entire takedown without _collapsing_ in _agony._ That's _extremely_ helpful."

He paused and gauged the young man's reaction.

It was as horrified as he had expected, and he felt his gut churn in response. Feeling like a monster, he pressed on.

"None of us knew there was anything wrong with you. What if that collapse you had happened when we were taking those guys down? Those heavily armed, mercenaries? What would have happened if you had keeled over when you were supposed to be covering your partners?"

If ever there was a time Tim was going to vomit from sheer regret, this was the time.

He hadn't even _thought_ of that. Hadn't even _dreamed_ of it. Now…now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the entire world.

He could have gotten them all killed.

He felt bile rise in his throat, as Gibbs continued.

"So when we get passed all that, you then decided, it would be just a great idea to _run away from me_ in the hospital? To spend hours in freezing conditions with barely a scrap of clothing on you. To have me out of my mind with worry because you didn't even have your _cell_ on you?"

Tim felt the bile dance inside him, as he turned tortured eyes on his boss.

"You were that worried" he whispered miserably.

Feeling the familiar tugging on his heartstrings as yet another one of his people continued to struggle with the concept that they were _worth_ such worry, Gibbs nodded his head firmly.

"Yes, I was" he answered simply.

Groaning, Tim felt guilt and misery wash over him in ferocious waves as he sat rigid with regret. How could he have been so _stupid?_

"Do you have _anything_ to say for yourself?" Gibbs demanded.

Racking his brains, Tim came up short. What on earth _could_ he have to say for himself.

"No boss" he answered quietly, "I was an absolute idiot. I thought that…that I had to do my job no matter what, and that's why I didn't say anything. I didn't…I didn't think. I never meant to put any of you in harm's way…"

He paused, swooning in his own pool of misery.

"I shouldn't have bolted from the hospital. I don't…I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I just knew how angry you were with me and I didn't want to face it."

He broke off, looking down at the floor in shame.

"I was a coward."

The headslap took him by surprise, and when he looked up, Gibbs really _was_ looking furious.

"You are _no_ coward" he growled, "and don't you ever let me hear you saying that again. You made a stupid decision because you were scared, but you _came back._ That tells me what kind of man you are, not that I don't already know."

Tim stared, before forcing his head to bob up and down.

"I need to know though" Gibbs continued, his tone suddenly hesitant "did you run…because you were afraid of the trouble you were in or…" he swallowed, "because you were afraid of _me?"_

There was a shocked silence as Tim comprehended the words floating into his ears.

"No boss" he eventually blurted out, understanding the real question being asked "I am _not_ afraid of you."

The arching of the brow saw him adding a few more words.

"Not that…not that, I mean not that you're _not_ scary" he gabbled, "I'm just…I'm just not scared _of_ you."

Not believing it possible in the current situation, Gibbs found himself chuckling and ruffling Tim's hair who smiled back in startled relief.

"Well thanks for clearing _that_ up" he laughed gently, as he drank in the relief that the kid didn't fear him. Of course, Ducky had reiterated that point in many of his lengthy lectures when he was feeling particularly troubled about such aspects, but it felt better coming from one of his four.

"Ok" he continued, resuming his usual tone, "you fully understand why you're in the hot seat here then?"

Tim bit his lip as he glanced down at the paddle, but nodded his head nonetheless.

"Yes boss" he murmured clearly, "I was an absolute moron."

Gibbs smiled his rare soft smile.

"It's ok" he reassured the kid in mock seriousness, "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

Laughing, and amazing himself in doing so, McGee nodded his head with a playfully sarcastic "jeez, thanks."

Sobering in the realisation of what he had to do, Gibbs felt his brow furrow.

"You know I don't like using this, right?" he asked quietly, gesturing towards the paddle that rested on his lap.

Nodding his answer, Tim tried not to look at it.

"And you know I only use this when I absolutely have to, right?"

Again, Tim forced his head to answer silently.

"And you're not going to do something so boneheaded anytime soon, that's going to make me have to use this again, right?"

The sandy brown head jerked up and down in affirmation.

Feeling his stomach contract painfully with reluctance, Gibbs stood and grasping the paddle in one hand, he pulled the pillows off of Tony's bed with the other. Placing them on the side of Tim's bed, who stood, he gestured sadly towards the now raised platform they formed.

"Bend over them, Tim" he instructed with a false firmness, feeling sick.

The paling complexion of his youngest boy didn't do anything to assuage that sick feeling, as the kid complied, albeit slowly.

Moving to the side, Gibbs pushed up the sleeve of his custom red sweatshirt, and placed his free hand on the small of Tim's back.

"I never want to have reason to do this again, do you understand me?"

The "yes boss" was muffled, which was understandable, as Tim had buried his head into his arms.

Nodding sadly, Gibbs stepped back slightly and tapped the paddle against the raised, jeans clad backside, steeling himself.

He first crack was horrifyingly loud, and it was only McGee's equally loud yelp that drowned out Gibbs' own sounds of distress.

Pushing his own feelings to the side, he set about his highly unpleasant task, keeping a firm grasp on the kids back.

A routine quickly crept in of a loud lick, being followed closely by a very understandable yelping and whimpering from its recipient.

With a stinging swat falling on the under curve of the kids butt drawing a loud squawk, Gibbs shut his eyes tightly before stepping back.

"Stand up and lose the jeans and shorts son" he ordered quietly, wondering if was possible to hate himself even more than his ex wives did.

He forced himself to remain resolute, as Tim slowly stood up and obeyed. Gently guiding him back over the pillows, Gibbs grasped the paddle tightly, whilst all the while wanting to throw it from him.

The now bared butt was a dusty pink, and as he replaced his hand on the small of the kid's back, he knew that it would soon be a crimson red.

The first swat that landed drew a much louder whimper, and Gibbs had to internally yell at himself in order to land the next one.

As predicted, the pink hue quickly notched up into a radiantly red glow as he efficiently applied the paddle across the upturned backside. It wasn't long before he could hear the telltale sounds of crying wafting up from the boy's tangled arms and head.

With the next swat colouring the tender sit spots, the quiet crying instantly broke out into a heavy sobbing, and Gibbs felt his hand rub circles on the clammy back.

"It's ok" he croaked, "you're ok…we're nearly there…."

With that, he resolved to bring the punishment to a close and delivered the remaining licks quickly, but deliberately.

With the last swat, Tim's torso lost all formation, as he sank into the pillows and wept wholeheartedly.

Instantly throwing the paddle onto to Tony's mattress, Gibbs circled Tim's bed and crouched down beside his head. Placing a hand on the kid's hair, he felt sick with guilt as he murmured to him quietly.

Lead and junior agent stayed in that position for what felt like an eternity, as McGee's body wracked with the effort of processing his punishment and expelling the guilt it was intended to rid.

Gibbs' hand never left the boy's head, as he stayed rigidly still.

Eventually, the eyes ran dry. Tim had no more left to give.

He just lay there, getting his breathing back under control and beginning to feel the tentative feelings of relief and lightness that always came after a butt roasting.

He sniffed as he pushed himself off the bed, and reached back to tug up his jeans. Sensing the movement, Gibbs also stood, but went rooting through Tony's closet.

Finding a very well worn spare of OSU sweat pants, he threw them on the bed over his shoulder with a quiet "put these on Tim, they're softer."

He waited with his back turned until his ears caught the little gasp that let him know that sweats had been pulled up over a scorched backside.

Turning, he felt another bout of misery as he took in the very flushed faze of his junior agent, and the _very_ red rimmed eyes.

Acting instinctively, he strode across the room and gathered the kid into his arms. He felt his usual relief as Tim melted into the embrace, resting a hot head on his shoulder and sniffling somewhat.

Eventually breaking apart, he placed a hand on each of Tim's shoulder and looked at him studiously.

"How're you doing bud?" he asked gently, blue eyes boring into McGee's every fibre.

The young man didn't answer for a moment, biting his lip and causing Gibbs' heart rate to sky rocket dramatically.

"Do you forgive me?" eventually came the quiet question, as its recipient gaped slightly. Recovering, a weary Jethro gently turned Tim to the side, and issued a very soft swat across his backside.

Over the squawking, he turned his back and tipped his chin upwards.

"What have I told you about that?"

Tim smiled then, he couldn't help it.

"That the next time I doubted I was forgiven after you tore my butt up, you'd think you hadn't done a good enough job" he rattled off, feeling staggering relief overtake him.

He was forgiven.

He always was.

"Uh huh" Gibbs agreed with a smile of his own, as he threw an arm around the boy's shoulders and began steering him out of the room, the paddle laying forgotten on Tony's bed.

Grabbing a cushion from one couch, and throwing it down in Tim's habitual spot, he meandered into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of strawberry ice cream.

"No mint?" Tim whined slightly, looking up with a wounded expression.

"Tony ate the last of it" Gibbs answered in a feigned apologetic tone, "I'll let the chef know you're not impressed."

Rolling his eyes at the teasing, the younger man dug into the ice cream enthusiastically.

He didn't know where the tradition of ice cream after a sore butt had come from, and Gibbs didn't have the heart to tell any of them it was born out of a concern that their throats would be sore from all their crying.

Rooting around in his pocket, whilst also reaching for the remote, he held out both hands to Tim who's eyes lit up as he swallowed down the last of his bowl.

His cell was like his right arm, and as he reached for it, he felt complete again. The remote was also enthusiastically taken.

"Thanks boss" he mumbled absentmindedly, as he happily unlocked the cells' display. Chuckling at the happy expression, Gibbs sank back on the couch feeling ridiculously light hearted.

It was done, and already forgotten.

"Wait…" Tim suddenly began uncertainly, "am I still grounded?"

Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Gibbs shook his head fondly.

"Nah kid, you're not…but, I'm right in saying that you've learned your lesson, yes?"

Tim nodded vehemently with a very quick "yes boss."

Nodding himself, Gibbs smiled genially.

"Then you're free to…I dunno, kills elves or whatever it is you do."

McGee spluttered in indignation before setting about thoroughly correcting his boss' complete lack of knowledge about his pastime.

Spared this horror by the shrieking of his own cell, Gibbs smirked at Tim's annoyance at the interruption, and answered in his usual way.

His relaxed expression instantly soured, and the younger man looked on in growing concern.

The twinkling blue eyes were clouding over in rage as the caller continued to speak.

Eventually shutting the cell with snarl, Gibbs threw it from his hand with a force.

"Boss?" Tim began hesitantly, "what's wrong?"

The team lead scrubbed his tired face with an agitated swipe, before answering in a tone that somehow managed to ooze raw anger, disgust and panic all at the same time.

"…Eli David."

….

TBC

….

A/N: Ok, so after this storyline I have something planned that will test Gibbs and Ducky's friendship, thoughts? (It's not Ducky punishing Gibbs, that's never going to happen in any of my stories, sorry to those who've requested!)

Hope you all enjoyed reading.


	10. Border Control

Leon would have wilted under Gibbs' ferocious gaze had he been any jot of a lesser man, but as it was, he met the icy blue eyes with a foreboding stare of his own.

There really _was_ nothing he could do. Orders were orders, and he would have _thought_ that a frigging Marine would be able to get that through his sawdust filled skull. It wasn't as if he was pushing her out the door, her damn father was pulling her through it.

The NCIS-Mossad liaison arrangement was just that, an _arrangement._

Arrangements, the last time he'd checked anyway, were subject to review.

The time for review had come, and they'd all just have to deal with it. Leroy Jethro Gibbs might consider himself above such trivialities as international relations, but he didn't have that luxury.

If Director David wanted his daughter home, then that's what was going to happen. Ziva at least would understand, she was groomed for power since the day she was born.

She knew that power had to be utilised to satisfy the greatest good.

…and right now, that greatest good was Ziva's exit from American soil and her re-entrance onto Israeli soil.

It also wasn't as if he didn't _care,_ because he _did._ Officer David was perhaps one of the most captivating, and mildly terrifying women he'd ever met, and he was truly sad to see her go.

However, the delicate, intricate and perilously unstable relations between America and Israel couldn't very well be jeopardised just because this infuriating man couldn't bear to say goodbye to one of his puppies.

"Look Gibbs," he snapped, "I've said all there is to say. She's going. She's going tomorrow, and you need to accept it. You need to get your team to accept it, and you need to do it now."

Hearing his blood pumping in his ears with the effort of keeping his vitriolic tirade at bay, Gibbs with an almost unearthly effort, kept his cool.

"She doesn't _want_ to go," he reiterated through clenched teeth. "That… _man…"_

Vance sighed. Loudly.

"Her _father_ you mean?"

Gibbs didn't miss a beat.

"That _man_ is essentially abducting her. We're federal agents Leon, and in case ya hadn't noticed, federal agents tend to _frown_ on forced international travel."

Shaking his head at the bull headed man's obstinacies and his rampant hyperbole, Vance merely turned his attention to the pressing pile of paperwork on his desk.

This was her _father_ they were talking about. It wasn't as if he was sending her on a flight with the grim reaper.

Jerking his head towards the door, he leafed through the files in clear dismissal.

A shell shocked moment came and went.

Swallowing the growl that sounded in his throat, Gibbs cast one last disparaging look at his short sighted, disloyal, _spineless_ boss, before storming out of the office.

His every nerve ending vibrated with rage. Everything that girl had done for this country. Everything she had sacrificed, and that…that _paper pusher_ didn't give a second thought to forcing her over to ruthless, useless _father._

Making quick work of the steps back into his bull pen, his rage petered off slightly at the sight that met him.

She was surrounded.

Tony sat on one side of her, with his arm draped around her, and it was perhaps a testament to the situation that she hadn't broken it. Tim sat on the other, with a matching arm around her slim shoulders.

Abby was in the middle of what he gathered was some insane scheme to genetically modify a random stranger into looking just like Ziva, and sending that poor doppelganger home to Israel.

Even Ducky was hovering in the squad room, his eyes brimming with misery.

The sensible part of Gibbs knew that misery was for _him,_ his oldest friend knowing just what having Ziva unceremoniously thrown out of the damn country would do to him.

To them all.

His eyes raked over the scene, and he sighed a sigh of sheer misery.

Particularly Tony.

Perhaps Ziva refused to acknowledge it, or perhaps she didn't dare risk it, but Gibbs had caught the looks that had captured her face as she would stare at DiNozzo as he worked at his desk, head bent in a file, oblivious to her gaze.

There was something there with them, and womanise and fraternise as much as he wanted, even Tony couldn't fool him.

Ziva…was special. Whether or not anything had or would ever happen between the two of them, there was a bond there that was bordering on the unbreakable.

He could see that she was attempting to appear indifferent, stoic, as her teammates, hell her _family,_ tried their best to comfort her.

As much as you _could_ comfort Ziva David.

Her face remained impassive, but he could see the pain in her eyes. The pain that stemmed from finally finding a sense of belonging, a sense of caring…and having it all ripped out from under you.

It was in that moment, as he watched her try to conjure up a smile at Abby's now certifiably insane garbling of idea's, that he knew.

She wasn't going.

He would do…whatever the hell it took.

He would lie, cheat and steal. He would do, _just whatever the hell it took_. Sweeping down into the bull pen, he winced internally as the suddenly hopeful eyes looked up and latched upon him.

His jaunt into Vance's office had taken little over half an hour, and no doubt they were silently praying and hoping for some kind of miraculous reprieve.

Hating himself…despising himself, for what he was about to do, he forced his features into one of a nondescript, emotionless mask.

What he had to do…what he had to achieve, could not be done as part of their usual unit.

As much as he knew that his other three would lay down everything they had to try and protect Ziva, he would not ask it of them.

This was his responsibility.

And his alone.

Tony and Tim melted away from her as he approached, and as she stood apprehensively. A tangled mass of dark curls fanned her face as she gazed at him with a defiant chin, and he felt his stomach sink a little further.

It was a show, and one that he hated to see.

She was trying so desperately to keep the fear from her face, but the teeniest flicker of intense trepidation flickered across her beautiful features nonetheless.

Reaching out, he gently cupped her face in his hand, with the eyes of every member of Team Gibbs firmly upon him.

Feeling slightly ill with self loathing and regret, he forced himself to shake his head.

Forced himself to watch as she faltered in his grasp, brown eyes brimming with understanding, shining with an incomprehensible misery.

Forced himself to hear as if through amplified speakers as Abby burst into tears, and buried her face in Tim's chest, who instantly enclosed her in a tight embrace with a look of pain on his own face.

Forced himself to catch out of the corner of his eye, all the living colour from Tony's face drain to an ashen pale, with a frightening speed.

"Sorry kid," he whispered softly, gently caressing her face with his thumb, his own stomach acid attacking him in their acidic show of self hatred.

He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that it was the only way.

The _only_ way to keep her where she wanted to be, and the rest of them safe.

"I'm ordering you to go, Ziva."

…

TBC

…

Ok, so…last night's episode was the definition of emotional distress! The little interchange of emotion between Ziva and Tony here is just my way of paying homage to Michael's last episode. This is in no way going to turn into a Tiva fic! (Side Note: I'm thinking of writing some kind of a "Life After NCIS fic for Tony. Thoughts?)

Anyways, I'm rambling, as always, I had a question for you guys and my question _is…_

I know I still write Ziva in my fics though she's long gone, but I loved her as a character and I definitely do _not_ love Bishop. But with both Ziva and Tony being characters now no longer present, would you all still be interesting in reading about them? Or are they kind of dated?

(I personally still love writing about them, just want to know what you guys think so I know if to/or if not to, write/post Tony and Ziva anymore!)

-Inks.


	11. Consulate Consternation

A mere day after he had falsely ordered Ziva to obey her father's draconian demands, he was pushing his admittedly weak plan into the beginnings of fruition.

He hoped.

Loitering on the steps of the Israeli consulate, Gibbs hesitated for a fraction of a second. Barging into foreign grounds, where relationships were already strained, could and most definitely would cost him everything. There also was a high potential for the bringing of criminal charges.

He wasn't exactly _invited._

Brushing these inconvenient facts from his mind, he recalled the betrayed look he'd seen in Ziva's eyes as he'd ordered her to essentially pack her bags. His jaw stiffened, and his hesitation melted away.

Clambering up the pristine marble steps, he plucked his badge from his pocket and tried to act like he had every business steaming into the diplomatically immune building.

Like he was a man with a plan, and a man in a great hurry.

Leon's face careered across his mind, as he successfully navigated his way past the first doorman, and he firmly pushed it away.

He would more than likely enjoy firing him just as much as a gambling addict enjoyed the gamble. He'd been waiting his chance for years, and now, here it was.

All wrapped up, with his career in a stranglehold bow top.

Again, he brushed it away. This was _Ziva_ after all, and just like Tony, Tim, or Abby, all bets were off when it came to her.

Glaring authoritatively at the second doorman, he felt his heart thundering in his chest as his credentials were meticulously examined. Accepting them as they were handed back, he kept his face stony as the traditional "and your business here today?" question was levelled at him.

Trying, and very much achieving, to look utterly contemptuous of such a question, he bore a hole into the guards eyes with his own.

"Nothing that is appropriate to discuss in a public hall," he snapped icily, praying that his aggressive demeanour in conjunction with his high clearance level, would pass him through this checkpoint.

His prayers were answered.

Glaring at the rude man, so like so many before him, the guard waved him on with an irritated jerk of his hand.

 _Damn Americans._

Breathing in relief, Gibbs stormed past with a brisk nod of his head, and focussed on getting past the next hurdle.

How in the hell to get up to the office strictly reserved for Mossad Director upon his visitation.

Apparently, forcing his daughter to unwillingly accompany him home, warranted such a visitation.

He glanced around the opulent hall he found himself in, as he had times previous, and was grateful for the hive of activity that buzzed around him.

Deciding that the best line of defence was offence, he went with sheer brazenness over subtleness. Acting with an almost Oscar award worthy poker face, he strode through the hall as if he owned the damned place.

Stopping just for a fraction of a second, he set up the opulently carpeted steps and soon found himself barrelling out onto the familiar corridor.

But silently. _Very_ silently.

He encountered in his vision, one very surly guard standing outside the shining mahogany door that, if he was lucky, currently housed Eli David.

Guess it was hard to get good staff.

Concealed behind an extravagant pillar, he contemplated rapidly. Biting his lips, he racked his brains to think of ways to draw the stationary man from his perch without drawing all kinds of attention down upon himself.

As miracles worked, he didn't have to think for long. The shining door suddenly opened, and his stomach lurched with both apprehension and rage at the sight of the opener.

Director David snapped his fingers boorishly at the guard, who immediately snapped to attention. Murmured voices in tongues unknown to Gibbs fluttered around the hall, to the metronome of his wildly beating heart.

The guard, as the door snapped shut, immediately began a speedy gate down the hall. Ducking further behind the pillar, Gibbs tried to look as nonchalant as possible just in case there were cameras trained upon him.

It was _more_ than unlikely however.

Ziva had once told him that her father wouldn't permit any kind of surveillance on his private floor.

The guard swept by and trotted down the steps he had just climbed, and disappeared from view. Feeling, for once, encased by good fortune, Gibbs cautiously edged out from his sanctuary and made his way, unhindered and unescorted to the much coveted door.

Halting outside, he once again thought rapidly. He had no way of knowing who or how _many_ who's were in that room.

Knowing that he was pretty much fired anyway, he threw caution to the wind. Knocking smarty on the door, he waited with bated breath.

Any other high profile official would never dream of answering the door themselves, but Eli David was a special kind of arrogant.

The same kind of arrogant that wouldn't even permit a basic CCTV system to protect his own damned neck.

He was counting on that arrogance.

The door creaked open and he acted within nanoseconds. He thrust his full weight against the thick wood, and sent the opener spiralling across the floor. Quickly stepping into the extravagant room, he snapped the door shut behind him and locked it in one swift movement.

A quick, but detailed visual sweep of the room revealed it to be empty save for himself, and a moderately gawping, literally floored, Eli David.

Moving rapidly, Gibbs bent down and none too gently yanked the man to his feet. The look of shock on his usually smug face would have been delicious on any other day, but today, the Marine just wasn't in the damned mood.

He didn't have much time.

When that guard came back, he was done. His time at NCIS was done, _he_ was _done._

He needed to make whatever time he had count.

Eli had suddenly found his voice.

…and was using it to its fullest, loudest, extent.

" _Gibbs?"_ he all but shrieked in shock, holding up a hand to his throbbing nose, "what the _hell_ do you think you are doing?"

Pointing to an overstuffed armchair, the intruder merely arched an unconcerned brow.

"Sit."

Eli gaped.

He had known Gibbs was an arrogant ass, a self important, lawless maverick…but _this?_ This was really too much. Barging, literally, _barging_ into _his_ office and assaulting him with his _own_ door?

Outrageous.

He moved, not towards the chair, but instead to the phone that lay perched on a nearby, doily covered table.

Seeing his movements, Gibbs sighed.

Reaching the table first, with ease, he uncerimonously yanked the chord right out of the phone, sending it careering across the floor with a deafening clatter.

Eli gaped even further.

"What are you _doing_ man?" he murmured faintly, "have you lost your _mind?"_

Gibbs threw the remnants of the chord down on the floor and shook his head.

"I just want to talk."

The only thing as dense as Eli's shock was the silence that blanketed the room in response to the odd pronouncement.

Gibbs _hated_ talking.

Hell, even _he_ knew that.

His shock however, was quickly and irrevocably giving way to rage. Looking at the horrifically unrepentant trespasser, a snarling scowl spread across his face.

"You have all but broken in here," he growled, moving closer to an unwavering Gibbs, so that they were as face to face as was possible to be.

"You have no official business here, that much is clear…" he pondered, almost to himself, as he ran his gaze over the silent man. He silently came to the right conclusion, and a gleeful smile began to melt across his rather un-redeeming features.

"My friend, my _good_ friend, Director Vance….he doesn't know you're here, does he?" he all but crooned, tilting his head as he affirmed his conclusions, and feeling a warm contentment spread through him.

"Oh my _my,"_ he chuckled sadistically, "quite the mess you're in isn't, _Agent Gibbs_? And all for a _chat?_ With little old _me?"_

He paused for a moment, drinking in the pleasure that was engulfing him.

"I'll have your badge for this," he then promised darkly, but with a tangible excitement. "I'll have you up on charges….and that's just for _starters…_ this is the _end_ of your reign _Leroy…_ and all for what? For some kind of perverse heart to heart?"

Gibbs stepped closer, and shook his head, fighting with all his might to keep his fists to himself.

 _Firmly_ to himself.

"No," he said softly, before pulling out his wallet and flicking it open, thrusting it in the despicable man's direction, face up, at a photo taken about three years ago.

He watched as the diplomat's eyes widened, with a range of emotions he didn't even pretend to give a damn about.

He met Director David's stunned gaze with his trademark ferocious glare.

"For her."

…

TBC

…

A/N: Ok, so in response to a pretty overwhelming consensus, Ziva and Tony are very much going to remain in my fics!

Hope you enjoyed. I'll update soon.

-Inks.


	12. Smile for the Camera

A deafening silence reverberated around the room as Gibbs wrenched his wallet back from Eli's grasp. Indicating a set of matching chairs in the corner of the room, he turned and flung himself down on one, kicking the other one out with his foot. Eyes narrowing with the audaciousness of the man, Director David grudgingly made his way to his obvious spot with a marked reluctance.

"You wanted to talk," he murmured, in that accent so like hers, "I take it, from your rudeness and your aggression, that you are…shall we say, _adverse_ to my daughter returning home?" Nodding mutely, Gibbs crossed his legs and ran a hand through his hair. "You surely know that she doesn't want to go back with you?" he snapped brusquely, having neither the time nor the inclination for pleasantries. "You obviously just don't give a damn, is that it?"

Eli chuckled, and a rapidly irate Gibbs resisted the urge to punch him right into his smarmy, calculating face. As it was, he kept his arms neatly folded in front of him and merely visualised the delicacy that would be drawing blood from the man across from him.

"Jethro, may I call you Jethro? It's just, with you in your final moments of being an _agent;_ perhaps it would be kinder to ease you into the transition, no?" Gibbs raised a brow. "You go ahead and call me whatever the hell you want, I don't have the acting experience to pretend to give a crap. All I care about is Ziva, and keeping her here. Where she wants to be, and where she damned well belongs. Anything else is… irrelevant."

It was Eli's turn to raise a brow. "Where she belongs you say? Perhaps it had escaped your attention Jethro, but Ziva is an Israeli. She is the logical successor to my position, and has been groomed for such since the day she was born. If you think we, as a nation, are going to allow her considerable talents to be squandered on American soil, I am afraid that you are very much mistaken."

Making a mental note to remind Diane just how _very_ tolerant he could be, Gibbs continued to keep his hands by his sides. "I don't think you bringing up her childhood with _me,_ will end all that well for _you,"_ he retorted coolly. "What matters now, is what _she_ as a fully grown woman, _wants._ I believe she has made it clear to you, that returning to Israel, is _not_ what she wants."

Eyes widening at the very obvious barb, Eli squinted menacingly. "What foolishness is this?" he asked softly, dangerously. "Are you implying that _I_ am in some way or form am or was an unfit father to Ziva? To any of my children?"

Biting down the obvious answer as to a consideration of Ari, Gibbs chewed his lip. It wouldn't do to antagonise the situation, despite how much he dearly wanted to. "Like I say, the past is the past and I can't change that, what I _can_ do however, is see to it that you do not… blight her future like you did her childhood."

The paling complexion across from him, on any other given day, would have been simply edible. Now though, now he just didn't have the time. Eying him directly, he forced his voice not to betray the raw anger behind it. "For once in your life Eli, do the right thing and be that girl's father, and not her damned commander. Let her stay."

Eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into a thick head of hair forever as Director David stared silently at a monumentally unfazed Agent Gibbs. Eventually finding his voice, he was as annoyed as Gibbs was pleased that it betrayed his cool exterior. "How dare you," he mumbled faintly, "how _dare_ you barge in here, and tell me how to how to be a father. You…why, you barely even _know_ Ziva…you're _nothing_ to her but an employer."

Gibbs shook his head slightly, with a genuine tinge of compassion for the man's utter delusions. "You're wrong," he contradicted quietly, "that girl is more than just a team member to me. If you ever had an _actual_ conversation with her, as if she was an _actual_ human being, you would know that Eli. But you haven't, and so you don't." He took a deep breath, and willed himself to find the strength to go for the kill shot. "Or you do" he continued quietly, "and you just can't bring yourself to admit that she relates to me as a father, better than she even did you."

He had done it; he had a hit a nerve. It was worth saying things that very well could be accused of being honest to god _emotions_ to achieve it. The stiff upper lip, that really was more suited to a Brit than an Israeli crumbled, an in that moment, Director David looked mildly pathetic. That apathy however quickly transitioned into prideful snarling, and the chest was once again inflated, and the thoughtless expense of his own daughter.

"She is coming home with _me,"_ he spat with a vengeance. "In fact, I am moving up her departure date. She leaves now, tonight! At the very earliest opportunity. No wonder she had such an attitude and such a tone these days. She has learned insolence and contempt at _your_ hand" he raged. "Fret not, _Jethro,_ those qualities will soon be dispensed with when she returns to where she _really_ belongs."

Thinking rapidly, Gibbs sighed. As much as he had anticipated this conversation going as south as it _was,_ his heart hardened at the contemptuous disregard for Ziva that Eli so naturally exuded. She was literally a tool on his belt, to which he claimed and cloyed ownership of, just as a toddler would. He didn't give a damn about her as a person, and hell would freeze over before he was going to get away with it. Not this time.

Calmly reaching into his jacket pocket, he extracted a thick manila envelope, folded over once. Unfurling it, he threw it none too mannerly in Eli's direction where it was caught in nimble fingers. "What is this?" he asked scathingly, "a life time supply of post cards for Ziva? Well, I'm afraid I can't guarantee that she will ever get them. Postage to Israel can be so very…unpredictable, I'm sure you understand."

Willing his hands to remain where they were Gibbs' eyes hardened but he kept his cool. "Open it," he instructed softly, "I'm sure you'll find it informative." Snapping his mouth shut, he watched silently as Eli shot him a deathly glare, that he easily ignored. The room was filled with the ripping of paper, and silent prayers that the guard wouldn't return within the next five minutes or so.

The pallor drained like a dredged river as Director David leafed in horror through the vast array of highly incriminating photos and documents in his hands. The eyes, usually devoid of any emotion, bulged with a fairly understandable panic as his brain registered the ramifications from the evidence he clutched. International criminal tribunals, potential war crimes, but to name a few. Gibbs saw with a sliver of satisfaction, that the bejewelled hands trembled somewhat as the man scanned through the evidence he had so kindly provided.

"I had hoped to do this the easy way, Director, but you seem not all that keen on the idea. So, by all means, I'm prepared to revert to plan B." The man's panicked eyes swivelled to him, and he continued slowly. "You have two choices here. One, you can force your underhanded, selfish, downright despicable will on Ziva, and drag her back to Israel."

He paused, and steeled himself to commit a crime himself. "If you _do_ go for door number one, I will personally see to it that the originals of the copies you're holding make their way to every relevant international body out there. At a guess, I would say you would be stripped of office within the working day, and incarcerated the day after." He settled back in his chair, sensing instinctively that his time was running out, and eyed a slightly green Eli keenly.

"Door number two, you tell Ziva that you've changed your mind. You contact Leon, immediately, and insist that the NCIS-Mossad liaison position continue, as it was implemented. You will never attempt to so much as eat a frigging grape against her will, ever again. If I ever hear that you've attempted to bully, coerce and generally throw your gut around with her again…" he paused, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I won't need photos, because I swear to god Eli; I'll rip your damned head clean off your shoulders."

Saying all he had to say, and offering up all manner of bargaining and pleas to some higher power, he sat back and watched the cogs turning in the beefy head staring back at him. He was banking on the man's sense of self preservation outweighing his wants, but if they didn't…well then, he didn't know what in the hell he was going to do. He had just played his trump card, evidence he'd collected over the years with carrying degrees of favours being owed, just in case he ever needed to damn well use it. He held similar dossiers on both DiNozzo and McGee Senior's.

If this didn't work…if this was rejected, he had nothing left. No back up, no ace in the hole. He had absolutely nada, and the thoughts of it made his heart race as he continued to observe the clear decision making process that was unfolding in front of him. He could practically hear the vitriol that was spreading throughout Eli's mind, but all of that was irrelevant. He needed a decision, a cast iron, and cold, hard freaking decision. All of a sudden, the decision making process seemed to come to a halt.

"How do I know that you will not turn in these photos even if I agree to allow her to stay?" he spat angrily, furious, outrageously so at this turn of events. Gibbs arched a brow in his direction, anticipating this question, knowing the answer was non negotiable. "I, unlike you, am a man of my word Director, if I say I won't, then I won't." Folding his arms across his chest, he felt the seconds he had to play this out trickle through his hands like a fine powder. Whilst that guard didn't appear all that bright, he surely wasn't a complete moron. He would return soon.

"You are a bastard."

Chuckling, Gibbs nodded passively and lent back further, purposely displaying a nonchalance he did not feel. "So I've heard," he agreed amiably. "But, enough about me, we don't have all day. Are you going to go for door number one or door number two Eli? Hate to be cliché, but I will have to take your first answer," he gestured at his watch, "I'm a bit pressed for time you see."

Snarling, Eli clutched the envelope and stuffed the photos and documents violently back into it. "You can have her," he spat with a disgusting callousness, "she is not worth all this trouble. You take her, and you never bother me again." His eyes were alight with a dangerous rage as he continued his tirade. "You _Americans_ and your sentimentality. You are a foolish man Jethro, and I can only hope that one day, you will reap what you sow."

Feeling a billowing relief flutter through him, Gibbs closed his eyes as the emotion surged through him. It had worked, it had gloriously worked. "I will contact Leon immediately," Eli's snapping voice effectively ruining the moment washed over him, "I will inform him that I wish the liaison programme to continue indefinitely. I will insist that no changes be made to her terms of employment as a result of this…miscommunication."

He paused, shooting a scathing glare at a still profoundly relieved Gibbs. "But, I _shall_ inform him that you burst in here without notice. That you eluded my security, that you assaulted me with my own _door._ That you made threats of an outrageous nature towards me, which thankfully, had no bearing on my decision to allow Ziva to say. I will merely insist that your conduct be investigated, so that the next _diplomat_ on American soil will not be treated so despicably by a so called federal agent."

"That is non-negotiable," he continued in a dangerously soft tone. "You… _care_ for her so much, it should not be any trouble for you to put your money where your mouth is, should it? You are willing to risk everything for her, are you willing to lose your job? Disgrace yourself, and end your career. Are you _really_ willing Jethro, because if not, all bets are off and she _will_ be coming with me. Whether she, or anyone else, likes it or not."

His eyes sparkled with malice as he stared at an expressionless Gibbs. "Well, Jethro. What do you say? Do you agree to my one, teeny, tiny term? Or shall I instruct my staff to organise an evening flight for two?" Neither missing a beat, or a batting an eye, Gibbs threw out his arms nonchalantly. "You do what you gotta do Eli," he drawled dryly, "I can take whatever I have coming to me for this, it sure beats being alone, bitter and twisted. Don't you think?"

Snarling and shaking his head in disbelief, Eli rose from his chair and stared with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred at an also rising Gibbs. "Take your little, lost _puppy_ and get the hell out of my consulate," he barked, thrusting the envelope into his pocket. "Your director will have my call before you return to your agency, and after that…I do not _ever_ want to see, or hear from you again." With one last, burning look of vehemence, he turned on his expensive heel and stormed from the office, slamming the door on his way out.

Standing in sudden confusion, Gibbs scratched his head. What did he mean by _take_ her with him? Ziva, was at the Navy Yard…at least, that's where he'd ordered her, and the rest of them to stay for the morning, until his return. A minute, scratching noise suddenly alerted his senses, and he turned instinctively. The scratching soon turned to creaking, as a side door inched open. A brown eye peeked from beyond it as it opened, and his gut churned.

"Ziva?" he murmured in shock, and was rewarded when she stepped out from he immediately gauged was an en suite bathroom, with suspiciously red rimmed eyes. "What are you _doing_ here?" he asked in wonder tinged with horror. The conversation he had just had, would easily have been heard, syllable for syllable through the thin walls that separated the office and bathroom. He definitely had _not_ intended Ziva to hear him threaten Eli like that, or the man's response.

She crossed the room jerkily, and landed herself in front of him and looked up with a chewed lip. "I…I came to talk to him," she admitted quietly, "I needed to at least _try_ and get him to change his mind." She folded somewhat under his intense stare, and peeked up beseechingly. "I had to try and do _something_ ," she defended, "I….could not bear the thoughts of being transferred back ho…back to Israel. I just could not."

He stared down at her. She didn't seem perturbed by what had just unfolded, in fact and to the contrary her eyes seemed to shine with gratitude as she looked up at him. Needing to make sure, he awkwardly scratched his neck and tried to find the words. "Ziva…about what you heard, you have to understand it was a last resort, I-"

She cut him off. By uncharacteristically all but flinging herself into his arms, and squeezing him with an almost Abby-esque force. Burying her face into his chest, her resultant speech was muffled, but he caught it anyway. "Thank you Gibbs," she murmured fervently, with a stunned tinge, her voice ringing with relief, " _thank you."_ Feeling his lungs exhale a tentative breath he hadn't realised he was holding, he reached out and wrapped her into his arms, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Anytime kid," he whispered softly, holding her tighter still, "anytime."

They stayed motionless like that for some time, Ziva being overcome with a barrage of emotions and Gibbs just being supremely thankful that he still had her in his arms. Struck by a sudden, horrific thought however, Ziva wriggled out of his arms and looked up at him in sheer guilt ridden misery. "He is going to tell the Director about you coming here without authorisation," she gasped, "you will surely lose your job?!"

Before she could begin the very obvious state of distress Gibbs could see brewing, he reached out and gently put a silencing finger over her lips. "You just let me worry about Leon," he instructed quietly, "its not the first time I've been out of bounds, it'll be fine." When she looked at him disbelievingly, he tilted his head. "You trust me kid?" Her answering look of indignation made him chuckle, as he threw an arm around her and began guiding her to the door. "Then trust me to work this out, ok?"

Nodding reluctantly, but vowing to do everything she could to help the man who'd basically just volunteered to be a sacrificial lamb for _her,_ she was surprised when her gate towards the door was suddenly halted as Gibbs gently pulled her back. And then to the side. Her surprise quickly sky rocketed as she heard before she felt five or six firm, stinging swats land on her slack clad backside, before the assailing arm was once again draped over her shoulders.

Squawking in indignation, she looked up at him with flashing eyes. "What was _that_ for?" she demanded, rubbing her stinging butt delicately. Reaching the door, and looking utterly unrepentant, Gibbs ushered her through with a quiet "I'm not the only who's here when I shouldn't be, right?" Not having any reasonable answer to this, she settled for a mixture of a sheepish and sulky nod. Which just made the man chuckle and murmur "you can just count your blessings that I'm now in a _very_ good mood," as they walked through the tasteful hall.

On the last step, they looked up to encounter a now coat clad Eli issuing crisp instructions to a rapt looking clerk. Sensing a presence, he looked up and saw Gibbs and Ziva standing there, with the agent's arm once loosely, now protectively draped over her slim shoulders. Expecting something of a scene, Gibbs breathed out deeply when Eli merely cast the two a deeply disparaging look and stormed haughtily through a side door.

Feeling anger radiate through him at the disrespect the man so casually showed his own daughter, Gibbs looked down at her anxiously, to find her wearing an expression of reasonable serenity. Arching a questioning brow, he was answered with that genuine, crooked smile that he loved. "It does not matter," she mumbled assuredly, " _he…_ does not matter."

Staring at her intently, he saw no signs of subterfuge in her eyes or her stance. He, with a stroke of misery, realised that what he had witnessed today was nothing at all out of the ordinary for Ziva, he squeezed her tighter still and led the way from the consulate. Blinking in the fresh air, he felt his head reel from the relief that was still rocketing around his body, and the relief that radiated from his youngest. Within minutes, they were clambering into his car and making their way back to the Navy Yard.

Gibbs eventually had to issue a dire "no more thank you's," warning as Ziva continued to uncharacteristically garble her thanks. Soon after, he was forced to issue a corresponding "no more worrying about that," warning as the girl continued to fret about his fate with Leon. Grudgingly obliging both of these requests, Ziva allowed a happiness to creep throughout her, spreading its warmth everywhere it touched.

She was staying. She was not going to be bundled into a plane against her will, and farmed out for explosive after explosive assignments, the cause behind which were reprehensible to her. She would continue to lead her independent life, with the people who had first shown her what it was to belong to a family, and not a troupe. A real, honest to god, dysfunctional but happy, family. Her heart sang as the car trundled along, all the while drinking in the reality that she really had always known. That Gibbs thought of her as a daughter. Hearing him say it, to her…to Eli, was music to her ears and the Cheshire grin across her face reflected it.

Catching the look of unbridled happiness on his youngest's face, as they pulled into their lot, Gibbs knew whatever he was facing in Leon's office was worth it. A hundred times over. Walking through the security checks side by side, Ziva was struck with a sudden thought and turned to him. "Do the others know?" she asked happily, grinning even further when Gibbs chuckled and shook his head. "Do you think your ribs would be pain free if Abby knew?" he laughed, accepting his gun back from the security officer with a smile.

When the two were out of sight, the same security officer turned to his colleague who was wearing an identical expression of shock. "Did…did you _see_ that?" he all but stuttered, never having received a smile from the grouchy Gibbs in all of his years on the job. Nodding, the younger of the two continued to gape with a murmured, "maybe he's going back to Mexico?"

Upstairs, and meandering into the bull pen, Ziva and Gibbs were met with an accusatory looking Tm, Tony and Abby. Taking the lead, the eccentric scientist leapt up from Tony's desk and flew in front of them. "Where have you two _been?"_ she demanded, "what've you been going? Who've you been seeing? What did you do?" Bouncing from foot to foot in agitation, she glared the pair of smiling agents. "What are you grinning at? Where have you been for the last two hours…we have hardly _any_ time with left with you Ziva, you can't run off."

As she paused to take breath, Ziva sensed her que and rested her slender hands on both the Goths shoulders. "Abby…" she began clearly, glancing meaningfully over at the boys to include them, who obligingly walked over. "There's been a change of plans, and it turns out that you _do_ have time with me." She grinned widely, "all the time in the world…we, have all the time in the world."

She was met with three gawping expression, and heard Gibbs' chuckle beside her as he too, took them in. Tim was the first to recover, as Abby's and Tony's jaws were in danger of bouncing off the floor. Pushing passed Tony, he stared at Ziva intently. "You…you're staying?" he asked tentatively, in miserable fear that he had misunderstood what he had just heard. Forcibly reminded of just how much she loved the most mild mannered and thoughtful member of Team Gibbs, Ziva smiled warmly at McGee.

"I am staying," she confirmed happily. And that was the last word she got out for a while. She suddenly found herself nearly knocked off her feet as the three, in tandem, launched themselves at her. Their excited squawking drew askance glances from other teams on their floor, but with ferocious look for Gibbs, and every man, woman, child and dog dropped their gaze back to their own work. Disengaging himself from the ensemble of arms, and beginning a trend, Tony brought about some order to their squad room.

Turning to a silently observing and crookedly grinning Gibbs, he looked at him wonderingly. "You did this, didn't you?" he all but accused with his grinning causing his eyes to crinkle at the sides. "You made sure she could stay, didn't you?" Joining Tony in his questioning, Abby and Tim also rounded on a bemused looking Gibbs with matching expressions of awe adorning their faces. "What did you _do_ boss?" Tim murmured in astonishment, restraining Abby somewhat as she attempted to crush Ziva's rib cage. "Yeah Gibbs," Abby suddenly chimed in, "what did you _do?"_

Before he could even formulate an answer, they were all soundly interrupted by a bellowing from the upper floor. Five heads swivelled upwards in unison, and four sets of eyes widened in apprehension. One set of eyes remained in a causal state of blue ocean like calm. Leon Vance was generally not a man prone to histrionics, or displays of in uncontrollable anger, but today….today seemed to be the day he was willing to dispense with that image. Clutching the balcony with a force he would dearly like to transfer to his agent's neck, he let forth with a roar more befitting a hunting lion than a federal director.

"Agent Gibbs," he bellowed, feeling the metal under him vibrate with his pitch, "my office….NOW." Four mouths fell agape, as one clenched in resolution. Tucking Ziva gently under the chin, Gibbs shot Tony a look that only he could understand. Turning on his heel, he made his way up the stairs to MTAC level and Vance's office. He could hear faintly the sounds that told him Tony had understood what he had silently communicated.

" _No_ Ziva," Tony commanded, grabbing her, risking life and limb in the process, as she started up the stairs after Gibbs. Turning, she all but snarled and tried to shake him off. "You do not know," she mumbled faintly, "you do not know what he did for me. This…this is _my_ fault." To the backdrop of Abby's and Tim's stunned faces, Tony maintained his hold. "Whatever it is," he answered softly, "he doesn't want you up there. Trust him Ziva, trust him to know what he's doing."

She stared at him for a moment, before relaxing suddenly in his grasp. Her eyes clouded over with an intense sadness as she gave a resigned, miserable nod. She knew going up there would only make things worse for Gibbs, but standing there… _not_ going up there, was almost too much to bear. To her intense shame she felt tears spring up in her eyes, and within a minute she found herself bundled into Abby's arms. Settling in for the wait they instinctively knew they had to wait, Tea, Gibbs sat in silence in their portion of the bull pen. Neither of the two boy's or Abby were in any doubt that their boss had crossed some kind of a line in keeping Ziva, and their stomachs churned at the potential ramifications.

Upstairs, that concern was not as deeply shared by Gibbs himself, but even he had to admit, but only to himself, he _was_ nervous. Landing himself in front of Leon's desk, his face betrayed no hint of his inner feelings, as he stared steadily, and unnervingly, ahead. Throwing himself into his chair with the beginnings of a growl, the NCIS Director looked up at Gibbs with a scorching anger so deep that it almost bled from his dark eyes. Interlocking his fingers and resting his head upon them, he continued to gaze silently, resisting the urge to leap from behind the desk and smack the man silly.

"You are one son of a bitch."

Gibbs chewed over this for a moment, before nodding his head in agreement. "So I've been told," he replied easily, feeling déjà vu tickle his senses. Grinding his teeth at this display of nonchalance, Vance leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face. "I've just got off the phone with Director David. He informs me that in no way or form is Ziva's position here to be terminated, but, he also informs me that you broke every procedure in the book, burst into his embassy, assaulted him with a door, and proceeded to berate him for being a bad father." He paused to suck in some air, the rage that Gibbs, and only Gibbs, could cause him fluttering through his stomach.

"Is it _true?"_ he demanded, seeing as the grey haired man made no reply. Silence popped up for a moment, as Gibbs tilted his head before nodding it into agreement. "Yup, it is," he answered quietly, no hint of remorse evident in his tone. Nodding slowly, Vance once again ran a weary hand over his face and cursed the fact that he didn't become a grocery keeper, a soccer coach….a baker, _anything_ but being the boss of this blasted man. Scratching his head, he pierced Gibbs with his glare before speaking. "You are insubordinate, insolent and an utter law unto yourself."

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, Gibbs returned the glare. "I told you Leon, that she is one of _my_ people. No one treats my people like that, _no one."_ Clamping his mouth shut, he willed the man to just get the hell on with the delightful treat of giving him his marching orders, stripping him of his pension, generally…having a god damned whale of a time. Across the polished desk, Vance was battling with himself. These, were the pinnacle of grounds for termination. They didn't come much sweeter this, and not a court in that land would find for unfair dismissal. He could _finally_ get rid of the deepest of thorns in his side, and live a happy life.

His brow furrowed. That _would_ be the ideal situation, but only for him. Lawless as he was, Gibbs brought results. He got results, and he trained others to get those results. Vance could and would not argue with the numbers. The infuriating man was an asset to the agency, and had saved countless lives through his…unorthodox methods. He eyed him silently for a moment, taking in the purposely relaxed stance and the complete absence of nerves. He smiled slightly. The man would have made a damn good actor.

"Here's what's going to happen Gibbs," he ground out in clipped tones, coming to the decision he knew he would, but feeling the migraine associated with it beginning in the back of his head. "You are suspended for two weeks, without pay. Upon your return, you will serve out two weeks desk duty. After that, you are _personally_ going to teach every single seminar and event class I have planned for the next calendar year. You are going to accept this as the consequences of your actions, or you can turn in your gun and badge right now and get the hell out of my sight."

He tilted his head at the man. "So, no time for contemplation or spiritual guidance, what's it to be?" Underneath the cool exterior, Gibbs was beyond shocked. He was sure as hell he was going to be fired, without hesitation or compunction. The last thing he suspected was going to happen, was to be given a choice. By _Vance._ Clearing his throat, he looked almost curiously at the awaiting man, and arched a brow. "You're giving me a choice?" he murmured questioningly, "this is your golden ticket, the excuse you've been waiting for to can me. You're gonna pass that up?"

Leon smiled wryly and nodded. "Yes, Gibbs….you see _I_ unlike _you,_ am capable of setting the professional aside from the personal. You're a pain in my ass, you make me madder than I could ever have dreamed possible…but," he sighed, quite sure he would regret saying this. "You're a fine agent, and the agency would suffer if you were to be dismissed because of this." Waving his hand in agitation, he continued. "There, I said it. God save me, I said it. Now, make up your damned mind will you, because I _do_ have other things to do, then to deal with the many freaking adventures of you and your damned cubs."

Staring slightly, Gibbs wondered if he had been wrong about the man in front of him and felt a slight twinge of regret. "I'll take the suspension," he murmured quietly, feeling a staggering relief begin to float through him. He didn't know in the hell he'd managed it, but he'd somehow attained both the immense relief of Ziva staying, and avoided the welfare line. Nodding brusquely, Leon shot him a pointed look. " _And_ the desk duty _and_ the teaching duty?" Staring, Gibbs could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile, and retuned a similar shadow. "Yes sir," he replied respectfully, realising the well and truly had been given a life raft.

Pulling a sheaf of papers towards him, Vance nodded and held out his hand. "Badge and gun," he instructed clearly, "and then get yourself the hell out of my building before I change my mind and change the locks behind you." Grinning slightly, Gibbs unhooked both items from his belt, but with a twinge of sadness, and handed them over. Locking them securely in his desk drawer, Vance jerked his head towards the door. "I'll see you in two weeks. Now, why don't you take your troupe and celebrate. You got what you wanted," he paused to issue a half hearted glare, "like you always do."

Not being able to suppress a grin at that, Gibbs nodded and headed towards the door. Grasping the handle, he instinctually turned and did something he'd never contemplated before. "Thanks, Leon," he muttered sincerely, and was rewarded with an eye roll. "Yeah yeah, just get the hell out of my sight you maverick." Chuckling, Gibbs gave one last nod and swept from the room, feeling light hearted with relief. Barrelling down into the bull pen, he saw all of his four rise with looks of horror on their faces. Smiling his soft smile to assuage them, he saw the horror peter out slightly.

Landing in front of them, he prised Abby off with gentle hands, and grinned. "Don't look so damned miserable, no one's dead," he rebuked fondly. Tony, beating the other three to the punch as he retained his alarmed expression, spoke first. "Are you fired?" he asked anxiously, spying the lack of both a gun and a badge on Gibbs' belt. Darting out his hand to grab Ziva around the waist as she let out a squeak of horror and made to all but sprint up the stairs to Vance's office.

"No… _no,"_ he laughed, pulling her back. "I am _not_ fired…I'm suspended, two weeks. That's all, so will you all please calm yourselves down." Even as he spoke a collective sigh of relief went up in the bull pen. Gibbs collected suspensions like most people collected sports cards. It was going to be ok. Smiling some more, Gibbs turned and clapped Tony on the shoulder. "You three answer to him for the next two weeks, and I don't want to hear anything about any of you giving him a hard time. You treat him as you would me, you got it?"

Three heads nodded at once, as Tony flushed slightly under the inferred praise. Grinning once more, Gibbs jerked his head towards the door. "Come on," he instructed, "you've the rest of the day off, and I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving." Four beaming smiles met this pronouncement, as there was a mad scramble to collect keys and coats. Ten or so minutes later saw the entire ensemble pack into Gibbs' car, which groaned under the excessive cumulative weight. After a brief, but furious, argument about where to go, they were soon munching on burgers and fries in a retro diner, not far from Gibbs' home. Usually, Abby would be firmly at their lead's side in such social settings, but today she crammed herself in beside the boy's, allowing Ziva to perch next to Gibbs instead.

Smiling gently at the gesture, Ziva slid in and relished the feeling that when she woke up in the morning, all would be well and she would not find herself bundled onto a plane, to a destination she did not want in her life. Moving slightly to the side, so Gibbs could reach over and slap Tony and Tim upside the head for their fighting over the last side of fries, she settled into his side once more and sighed a contented sigh of pure peace. She tuned out of their conversation for a moment and allowed herself to bask in Gibbs' warm presence and to take in the laughing faces of those who had become her family.

Her attention was only brought back to focus when she saw Tony staring hopefully at Gibbs, who apparently, had also been in a world of his own. "Huh?" he replied absently, as Tony continued to stare beseechingly, nudging both Tim and Abby into doing the same. "I said, can we all stay at yours tonight to celebrate Ziva staying, and you can make those sloppy Joe's that are literally to _die_ for." Having planned a restful night of beer and boat making, Gibbs took in the hopeful expression that now adorned all four of his lots faces and let out a loud, feigned sigh. Throwing up his hands in defeat, he tilted his head at them and smiled his rare, generally just for them, smile.

"Like I have a choice in the matter."

…

TBC

…

A/N: There could be a few typos dotted here and there, I've just finished this on lunch and don't have time to go through it, but won't be around a computer till tomorrow, so wanted to get it up. I'll sort them out later if there are any. Anyways, hope you enjoyed. I think it's the Gibbs/Ducky conflict up next, thoughts?

Till next time.

-Inks.


	13. Happy What?

Again, the conversation stopped. Instantly.

His brow furrowed in agitation bordering on irritation as he surveyed his now _sudden death_ level of a silent bull pen. Making his way to his desk, with his fifth coffee of the day, Gibbs settled himself down with a sigh. His people…were driving him _crazy._ Not just his usual suspects either, this time it wasn't _just_ the troublesome four. Oh no, even Ducky and Palmer were grinding his gears. Sipping the scalding hot, loyal coffee, he peered out from the cup's rim.

Tim, Tony and Ziva were the epitome of industrial perfection. Two sets of green eyes, and one set of brown were firmly settled upon their respective files and monitors. There was no chit chat, or outright bickering between the three of them…they looked like a freaking magazine spread for some awful "motivation monthly," magazine. Tapping the paper cup thoughtfully, Gibbs ran a more detailed gaze over each of his field agent's.

He was well trained… _very_ well trained in spotting tell tale signs of guilt from any of the trio, but he wasn't reading that from them as he stared. Tim wasn't cringing with his own conscience; Tony wasn't covering up with excessive goofing off, quite the contrary, actually. Ziva wasn't snapping aggressively, but rather sitting in what _could_ be termed as a rather docile silence. His eyes narrowed.

It was…inexplicable.

All day long, and to a lesser extent yesterday too, whenever he'd rounded a corner, silence descended. Up here, in his own bull pen. Downstairs, in Abby's lab. On the ground floor, in Ducky's autopsy. It was like spending the day in some kind of bizarre silent film, and Gibbs was growing heartily sick of it. DiNozzo had already been head slapped for _literally_ clapping a hand over McGee's mouth as he'd breezed into the squad room. Not that he'd admit it, to anyone or anything, but…the team lead couldn't _quite_ help but get the feeling that the whispering, the silent looks….were about _him_ somehow.

He could be accused of being a lot of things, but _sensitive,_ really wasn't one of them. Shaking his head slightly in an effort to pull himself together, he saw with dismay it was _still_ the early afternoon. This day seemed to be dragging forever. About to drop his head down into his own file, he caught a deeply speculative look sent three ways between his two boys and girl, and sighed internally. He was getting too old for this. He really was. If there was something wrong… _why_ couldn't they just _tell_ him? Preferably now, before it all blew up in their faces, like it _always_ did.

Just as he was getting over the latest cloud of silence that coincided directly with his presence, his patience was tested another jot. The elevator doors pinged open, and out danced a slightly breathless Abigail Sciuto, making a beeline directly for Tony's desk. Three _deeply_ preventative glares were sent her way, with _one_ not so subtle head jerk in his direction.

Gibbs made a mental note to slap McGee.

Turning, with the aid of so _many_ prompts, Abby clamped her mouth shut when she saw him sitting there, staring silently. He could practically hear the inner monologue in her head, wondering how to play this out. She went for an unusually, but ultimately effective, option. Letting out a high pitched squeak that she turned unconvincingly into a sneeze-less sneeze, she turned in her impossibly high boots and fled from the bull pen. Literally _fled,_ as if being chased by a _swarm of bees kind of fled_.

Running a steely blue eye over his other three, Gibbs raised a brow. "Anyone… _care_ to tell me what that was about?" he asked openly, dryly. Tim and Ziva's gaze instantly swivelled to DiNozzo, who shrugged unconvincingly. "Uhh…you know our Abb's boss," he muttered, "she gets a bit…overwhelmed at times." He gave a nervous giggle, _Gibbs' eyes narrowed_. _Giggling?_ Before dropping his gaze back down to his paperwork.

That was it.

Leaning back in his chair, Gibbs cleared his throat. "Eyes up, now," he commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. When three sets of eyes were very reluctantly trained on him, he chose his words carefully, enunciating clearly, lest there be any confusion. He kept his gaze trained most firmly on Tony, the de facto ringleader of his brood.

"I don't know what is going on around here today," he said slowly, "but I am giving you all _fair_ warning, so feel free to share this with Abby," he shot Tony a pointed look, "when she's less _overwhelmed."_ He paused to allow the flush to creep over his second in commands face, before continuing. "Like I say…I don't know what's gotten into you lot today, but if _anything_ resembling one of your toe's out line creeps up in the near future, I am going to be _extremely_ pissed. Is that clear?"

No response.

Offering up a silent prayer for patience to whatever or whoever was above the Navy Yard's power, Gibbs ground his teeth.

"I asked if that was _clear?_ Or do you all need a little reminder of what me being extremely pissed _looks_ like? I shouldn't think you _do,_ but I'm still happy to oblige."

Lots of response.

"We got it boss, we got it," Tony muttered hastily, eying his other two partners in crime meaningfully. They each offered assurances of clarity at his prompt, looking at their team lead with an innocence that set his radar off the charts. Glaring at the three of them, he stood abruptly and nodded. "You'd better, because that was your first and last warning. I'll be back soon, I want those monthly write up's close to done when I get back."

He swept from the bull pen and found himself trudging down the stairs to autopsy. Usually he'd send one the three upstairs to collect Ducky's monthly reports, but he needed a breather. Hopefully, he'd just imagined the Dr's odd, well odder than usual, behaviour earlier. Swooshing through the electronic doors, he found the ME and his assistant in deep conversation, which _immediately_ ended upon his entrance.

Gibbs frowned.

 _Really?_

Standing mutely as Ducky clearly fabricated some errand to dispatch Palmer, he blinked as the kid all but ran from the room. Raising a brow, he threw himself down in the seat the young assistant had vacated and sighed. He definitely wasn't being sensitive; they were all in on some kind of…some kind of _something._ Looking his old time friend square in the face, he tilted his head.

"Did I do something to offend you _and_ my team, Duck?"

The kindly ME blinked.

"Good heavens no Jethro," he deflected effortlessly, "now, here for the reports are you? Now, let me see…I do believe Mr Palmer dropped a great deal of mustard on one, so you'll have to old one for just a moment and-"

Gibbs sighed.

"Ducky…you see this hair? I wasn't born with it… _yesterday,"_ he stated wearily, gesturing to his salt and pepper coverage. Ducky followed his hand and felt resolutely proud of his own mop of naturally youthful hair. "Yes Gibbs, I don't wear these glasses for _show_ you know…like that young..err… _Jason Beaver,_ Mr Palmerso raves about _."_

Gibbs blinked.

"Jason Beaver?"

Ducky waved an airy hand, as he stood and hunted for unsoiled reports.

"Yes Jethro, _do_ keep up…he's the next big thing apparently, he sings that infernal…oh what is it, oh yes that… _Love Yourself…ahh, jingle_. And they wonder why this generation is so narcissistic…"

 _What the hell is going on around here today…._

Wiping that thought from his mind, Gibbs accepted the pile of reports with one hand and sighed deeply. "You sure there's nothing I should know about, Duck?" he asked quietly, a hint of a flush on his face. "Everything ok with my lot? I know sometimes they talk to you and…" he trailed off, awkwardly.

Ducky smiled softly.

"Jethro, your little army is quite alright. Really, you shouldn't get yourself worked up in these states, or do I need to go through another lecture on your cholesterol?" Taking that as his cue to leave, Gibbs leapt up and nodded his thanks for the reports, before hastening from the suite. Knowing that he needed Abby's reports as well, he steeled himself for yet another brick wall. Then again, his favourite was the worst at hiding things from him, so she _was_ his best hope at getting answers.

A small, lone voice shrieked at him as he settled into the elevator that he was becoming positively paranoid in his old age. That he was being unfair with his team, and with Duck. That he was seeing things that weren't there, and he ought to, quite frankly, get a damned grip on himself. The doors slid open a few moments later, and he had nearly convinced himself he was being irrational, by the time he was striding to the door of his lab rat's haunt.

She was on the phone when he entered, and before he could so much as stoop down to give her a custom peck on the cheek, she'd suddenly hung up on the other end of the line without warning and was inching away from him.

He blinked.

It was _one_ thing for the boys to act like they couldn't get away from him fast enough. It was _another_ thing for Ziva to do so, and quite _another_ for Ducky and that odd little assistant who he begrudgingly realised was growing on him, to do so. But _Abby?_ Abby " _I hug first, ask questions later,"_ Sciuto to be backing up in his mere presence… _that_ took the biscuit. Not a nice biscuit either. Gibbs stared at the silently staring girl with a raised brow.

Definitely a rich tea biscuit situation.

He _hated_ rich tea biscuits.

And their situations.

"Abby?" he murmured, pulling himself together, sternly reminding himself that bruised feelings and the like were for accountants.

"Uhh…I need to go to the bathroom," she declared, looking at him as if daring him to question it. He didn't. He was too busy falling into a different realm where everything was as odd as all hell. He merely stood there, tilting his head at her. Realising with a jolt that he'd had a reason come subtext for being in her lab in the first place, he cleared his throat.

"I need to know exactly where you're at with your monthlies," he said quietly, "or, I need to know when you'll have them. Or if you're through with them."

There was a deep silence, as he stood uselessly.

She eventually gaped at him, a deep, dark flush beginning to spread out and stain her pale cheeks.

" _Excuse me?"_

He started, looking at her in the confusion that now claimed him in this, a long, arduous and most confusing day. He felt his hand rub across his strained eyes, as he thought wistfully of a night spent with bourbon, a boat and simplicity.

"I need your monthly reports," he said slowly, "you should have had them on my desk yesterday. Where are you at with them?" His all too familiar confusion ramped up another notch as she flushed some more, before rapidly cooling down with a jerk of her pigtails. " _Ohhh…"_ she muttered, looking around haphazardly, "I uhh…" her eyes found the floor, and she shifted slightly, "I'm a… bit behind on them Gibbs."

He glared, she relented.

"I haven't exactly…uhh, you know….started…as of this moment, in time, where we are, in this moment, as of now…here, in this uhh…lab…"

He sighed.

His tolerance, wavering at best on a usual day, was waning fast. Fixing his favourite with a glare that usually only Tony, and sometimes Tim garnered, he breathed out deeply. "If you have time to jump in and out of the bull pen for no apparent reason Abby, you have time to get your reports to me on schedule. I don't know _what's_ gotten into all of you today, but I've had pretty much all I'm willing to take." He moved closer, indicating the portable stereo blaring along on one of the sterile shelves.

"Give it to me. When I get my reports, you can have it back."

Already wide eyes widened further. "But…"

Gibbs shook his head, and held out his hand. "You have the least amount of written summations to do, and the other three are nearly finished theirs. It's not good enough Abby, and it's not like you, now, hand it over." For a moment, he feared she would descend into one of her legendary bouts of stubbornness, and in that moment, he just didn't have the energy. However, to the contrary, she threw him a slightly hurt look that hurt _him_ more than he would ever let on, and unhooked the stereo, handing it over with downcast eyes.

Feeling the day's stains even more acutely, he tucked the stereo under his arm and used his other hand to tuck Abby gently under the chin. Levelling eye contact, he softened his gaze. "You've all been someplace else, the last few days. I need your heads, here, in the job…and that goes for you too, ok?" He waited more patiently than he felt for her to nod silently, before kissing the top of her head, and striding out of the lab, more laden down than when he had entered.

In more ways than one.

Wishing he could just walk out the main doors, he forced himself to return to the bull pen. He could hear chattering and laughing as he approached, however, as he entered…it ended. Immediately. Running his eyes over his suddenly muted team, as they ducked their heads down to avoid his gaze, he couldn't deny the fact that he felt more hurt, than angry. Bewildered, too. Walking slowly to his desk, and placing the stereo in a drawer that housed many removed items, he sighed.

Sitting down heavily, he racked his brains in an attempt to think of something he had, or had not done, to warrant essentially being frozen out by his own brood. He hadn't been any more of an ass than usual, to _his_ mind anyway. His gaze lingered on Tony, his head bent deep in apparent concentration.

He'd chewed the kid out the other day for leaving the MCRT van in a mess that would be more befitting a frat house. Nothing unusual, nothing to bring on this bizarre form of silent treatment. His gaze moved to Tim. Nope, his recent record was squeaky clean. Resting his eyes on Ziva, he concluded that the relatively firm rebuke he'd dished out for swapping out Tony's gear bag with a bag of woman's lingerie couldn't be the cause for her not uttering a syllable around him.

He shook his head and closed his eyes, willing the time to sail by, so he could just go home and push their collective, maddening behaviour out of his mind. He was too stubborn to admit that he already knew he was going to agonise over their odd muteness, and their lack of an ability to remain in a room alone with him. His brow furrowed as he realised that their odd behaviour, though certainly at its peak today, had been brewing for a few days.

Wondering briefly if it was too late to make a career change, he threw his own eyes downwards, lost in a haze of silent faces, dropped conversations and a growing, gnawing feeling of foreboding. Hours snailed by, and he didn't realise it, being thankfully lost in his work. Only when activity stirred in the peripherals of his vision, did he raise his head. To the sight of three quietly rising, and quietly creeping agents. He closed his eyes wearily, glanced at the time, before leaning back in his chair and fixing the three of them with a glare.

"And…just _where_ do you three think you're going?"

The two boys shot Ziva a hopeful look, clearly wheedling with her to put her "soft spot," with Gibbs to good use. She barely suppressed a roll of her dark eyes, before turning to smile slightly at the staring team lead. "Uhh…it is finishing time, Gibbs, it is six o'clock…." She fell silent at the look on his face, and cursed the boy's in her head. Still seated, the growingly weary Jethro merely sighed.

He just didn't have the energy.

"I wasn't aware that a clock dismissed you," he growled, "I was under the impression that _I_ dismissed you." Holding up a hand as Ziva opened her mouth to answer, he shook his head and held out a hand.

"Reports, now."

There was an immediate scramble to retrieve said files, each agent depositing their share into Gibbs' awaiting hand. Seeing that all were accounted for, the elder man dropped them on his desk and jerked his head in the direction of the exit. "Just go, but I'm warning you, whatever it is you're all up to, it had better be gone by tomorrow. This place isn't a damned playground."

He intensified his glare, and added a terse point to his head jerk.

"Dismissed."

The three exchanged looks that he couldn't quite decipher, before turning on their collective heels and exiting the bull pen quietly. As the doors binged, obscuring them from view, Gibbs let out a weary breath. He had no doubt that they were _now_ full of chat. Staring down at a mass of reports, he felt a headache form behind his eyes. Today had been one of the most tedious, irritating and downright hurtful day's he'd spent cooped up in the Navy Yard.

Whilst he might stop his teams chattering turned bickering when it went too far, it was highly disconcerting to go the whole day in a stilted, bizarre silence. Especially…when it seemed to only happen around _him._ With a grimace, he pulled Tim's files to him for his sign off, as his were always the neatest, and decided to leave the rest of teetering stacks until tomorrow.

He'd had quite _enough_ of the bull pen for one day.

Two or so hours later, with a longing for sanding and drilling, he steered his car through the whittling traffic. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that his lot were clearly upset about something, about _him,_ and not _one_ of them would tell him what the hell it was all about. He scowled at himself as he waited at a red light. He was turning positively… _soft,_ in his old age. The idea of Leroy Jethro Gibbs giving a damn about Stan Burley having a problem with him was farcical.

But…Stan had never been Tony, or the rest of them.

Breathing a sigh of relief a few minutes later as he coasted up his driveway, he killed the car and grabbed the groceries he'd stopped for. It was perhaps a testament to how drained he felt, how fatigue lapped him that he just didn't see or notice, that which he was skilled in seeing, and noticing. Meandering up his porch, he was soon barrelling into his hallway, mouth watering at the thoughts of burning liquor and sawdust.

It was as he turned into his kitchen, that his groceries fell to the floor.

He blinked, rapidly. His ears tingled, fiercely.

His relatively bland kitchen, was no longer bland. His usually grey hair, was now covered in… _pink_ confetti. His usually sparse food supply, was plentiful, spread out over a _tablecloth_ adorning dining table. Banners hung from every imaginable surface, their jaunty meaning escaping him in the surprise that was pulling his jaw downwards.

He blinked again.

There were grins beaming at him, toothy grins. Grins he knew _very_ well. Grins that came from people who held all manner of noise creating _do-dah's_ in their hands. Such do-dah's being directly responsible for the fluttering confetti that brushed past his nose as he continued to blink. He felt the air tickle his tonsils as he continued to gape rather uncouthly in the direction of the invading, confetti throwing, and party popping four.

Before he could even formulate a single word, a familiar, vice like pain shot around his abdomen. Looking down, he registered a clinging Abby around his midriff, and instinctively wrapped his arms around her whilst looking at his two boys and Ziva with a now rather bemused grin on his face. His eyes roved over the banners that hung merrily from his kitchen cupboards, and for the first time registered a beaming Ducky and a rather terrified looking Palmer in the corner of the unknown celebrations.

He actually _read_ the banners for the first time, and felt his bewilderment grow, as his oxygen supply was rapidly being squeezed out him.

" _Happy Boss' Day, Boss."_

His jaw dropped again.

The bunting was clearly Abby made, and had a certain gothic tinge to the overall joviality. He shook his head slightly, and peeled his eldest girl off of him slowly.

"Guys," he eventually managed to croak out, "what's going on here?"

He frowned.

"Is it my birthday?"

It was quite possible. He didn't remember such trivialities as the day he came into the world. That sort of carry on, he had decided long ago, was _also_ for _accountants_.

And _lawyers._

Abby bounced in front of him, breaking his chain of thought. Such was her degree of bouncing, he was beginning to feel mildly nauseas as she hopped, with grins behind her widening with every jump. He steadied her with a hand on each of her shoulders, and looked at her in bewilderment. Sensing the man's utter confusion, she beamed up at him.

"It's national boss' day Gibbs," she squeaked, before blushing slightly and shrugging her petite shoulders, "and uhh…well, you do so much for all of us, we thought it would be nice to doing something for _you,_ and uhh….so yeah, happy boss' day!"

There was a silence for a moment as the team lead stared blankly at Abby, and then at his other three, before running a gaze over Ducky and Palmer.

He suddenly felt quite ill with guilt.

He was also having difficulty in swallowing down the little ball in his throat, and the damned allergies that were threatening to plague his eyes. He felt his spirits dive as he recalled how tough he'd been with his brood today, particularly Abby…when the cause of their secrecy was now abundantly apparent.

 _For him._

He looked up and locked them all in his eyes and forced himself to say words he didn't often say.

"Guys…" he murmured quietly, "This is…well, I'm... uhh…I'm sorry I was such a hard ass with you today," he shrugged awkwardly in sheepish chagrin, "I thought….well, I guess I thought you were all up to no good."

He looked around, in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, at the reception his rather stuttered apology was garnering. As it transpired, his nervousness, was utterly redundant. Tony snorted in laughter, as Tim shook his head in fond exasperation. Ziva's eyes were dancing with mirth, as her shoulders shook from her giggling, with Ducky's civilised chortling accompanying the whole lot.

Palmer, merely continued to look mildly petrified.

"Did you _hear_ that probie?" Tony laughed, his expression mischievous, "boss man thinks we're up to no _good?_ I'm wounded, Ziva, are you wounded?" Snorting beside him, the Israeli nodded her head. "I do not know _where_ he gets these opinions of us."

Gibbs found himself unwind instantly, a smile playing on his lips as he looked around with the beginnings of twinkling in his eyes. His table was groaning under the weight of a vast array of some of his favourite food and drink, and he suddenly found his longing for basement based boats ebb away. Working his way around the still present ball in his throat, he felt his heart dance as he looked around his brood and friend once more.

"You didn't need to do this," he said softly, a faint blush creeping over his face, "I-"

What he was, they never knew. Abby cut him off, once again. With another rib pulverising embrace.

"Shhh Gibbs," she rebuked fondly, " _you_ deserve a little TLC too you know." She released him, only to look back at her on looking counterparts. " _Right_ guys?" Three heads nodded in unison, easy smiles on each face. Satisfied, Abby turned back to the man of the hour and grinned even more widely. "Present time," she declared beamingly, dashing to a small table in the corner that Gibbs hadn't noticed.

It was playing host to an array of differently sized and wrapped parcels.

Shaking his head vehemently, Gibbs held up protesting hands. "No, c'mon you lot, there's no _need_ for all this…and-"

Having retrieved her desired parcel, Abby merely grabbed the man by the wrist and began dragging him in the direction of the living room, with a shouted "turn the music on Tony, it's like autopsy in here!" Before a still grinning DiNozzo could comply, a disgruntled grunt wafted out from Ducky, before easy chatter and reasonably bearable music began to spill around the previously pristine kitchen.

Abby was petite, but she was strong, and Gibbs found himself being _flung_ on the couch, as she threw herself beside him, nestling into his chest. Once again, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" he asked gently.

She rolled her eyes up at him. "It was a collective idea Gibbs," she smiled, before turning slightly more sombre. "I don't think you realise…how much you do for all of us, we thought it was important for you to see that. For you to see how important _you_ are…to us."

That ball was getting stronger by the minute.

"I love you Gibbs," she all but whispered, "I know we joke about it all the time, but…I really _do._ I don't know…what I'd do without you."

The ball was now in danger of cutting of air supply.

"I love you too Abbs," Gibbs replied quietly, always more at ease with confessions of _emotions_ where his lab rat was concerned. "You don't have to think about what you'd do without me kiddo, I'm not going anywhere. Ok?"

He emphasised this point with a gentle squeeze and another head topped kiss.

She smiled her toothy smile up at him, before shaking her head, pigtails flying and extending the parcel in her hands. "Open it!" she commanded, bouncing in his embrace as he chuckled. Knowing the care Abby went to in order to wrap the skull gift paper just right, he deftly removed it with skill.

The ball….could quite possibly require minor surgery to remove.

The dog tags in his hand glistened up at him. One of the customary two-piece tags, engraved with an interlinking branch, intricate and delicate in design and execution. The names scribed into the metal glinted in the evenings light. _Shannon Gibbs, Kelly Gibbs, LJ Gibbs_ were masterfully intertwined, with the letters flowing around the detailed branch that wound around each name, joining them all in the middle. Upon closer inspection, the branch bore the printed proclamation of "family."

The second, bore a similar branch, but a slightly longer one. With matching calligraphy adorning its breadth, except the names differed. _Tony, Ziva, Abby, Tim, Gibbs…_ were all joined by the looping lettering, spreading across the branch, small enough to be incapable of reading from a distance, but large enough to be read at will. The metal slinked through his fingers as he stared down at both tags, each representative of different times in his life, but of similar meaning.

There was no way that ball was coming out without medical intervention.

He looked down at a rather anxious looking Abby with an indecipherable expression, his eyes full of complex emotion. She shifted in her seat, and chewed her lip. "You don't have to wear them or anything," she garbled, "you can just put them in a drawer, or a biscuit tin, do you have a biscuit tin? I should have gotten you a biscuit tin," her lip was now being gnawed upon as she shuffled, "I'll get you a biscuit tin, I-"

This time, he did the interrupting.

Pulling her into his chest, he held her tightly to him, resting his chin on her head. A gentle thumb ran over her dark hair as he clutched her to him, his heart heaving with an unusual degree of emotion. Finding his voice, albeit a quiet one, he murmured down to her. "Thank you Abby…I love them." With that, he released her for the sole purpose of slipping them over his head, and dropping them down his shirt front. Tipping her chin up to him, his eyes were twinkling again. Signing to her, he chuckled deeply as she nearly toppled off the couch in her effort to reply.

"I'm going to send Tony in now," she declared, right before pecking him on the cheek, and dashing into the kitchen. Alone for just a moment, Gibbs used the opportunity well. Expelling the allergies from his eyes with a swipe of his shirt, he reflected on just how damned lucky he was. The metal against his skin was beginning to absorb his body heat, and he knew, that they wouldn't be coming off. Running a hand through his hair, he looked up as a grinning Tony lumbered in, also throwing himself down beside him.

"Hey boss," he declared brightly, with a now cheeky chappy smirk, "how you doing? I know just how much you _love_ parties." Not having the energy to glare, Gibbs merely shook his head with a smirk. "Wait until your birthday," he warned dryly, "because this means war." Bursting into laughter, Tony rolled his eyes and with a sudden shyness, held out his own rather clumsily wrapped package. Shrugging his shoulders, he reddened slightly. "You'll probably think it's stupid," he murmured in warning, "but you know Abby…she insisted."

Gibbs didn't answer, merely smiling softly, and opening the present with the same care he had Abby's. As the polished wood box fell into his hands, his eyes widened slightly, and that _infernal_ ball seemed to throb menacingly. A beautifully crafted, carefully sculpted, mini chest, stared back up at him. "You made this?" Gibbs asked wonderingly, running an expert touch over the smooth, flawlessly sanded surface.

Tony nodded with a small flush.

"Yeah…I guess you gave me the carpentry bug, boss," he mumbled quietly, before adding quickly, "you don't have to actually _use_ it or anything," he rambled, "you can just throw it down in the basement for nails or whatever, and-" A hand suddenly reached up, cutting him off, and he braced himself for a trademark slap. The soft tousling of his hair was therefore a welcome substitute.

Running his thumb over the inscribed, pithy but sincere " _Thanks for everything, Boss,"_ Gibbs cursed his non-existent allergies, as he tightened his gentle hold on Tony's soft hair. "This is great, Tony," he said quietly, pride running through him as he held the perfectly constructed little box. When he'd first started teaching Tony the ropes of woodwork, the kid didn't know a rivet from a hole in the wall. It was clear he had natural talent, and Gibbs knew he would cherish the fruits of such that he held in his hands.

Looking at his second, he smiled his rare, crooked smile. "You're talented, son," he informed the agent softly, "you should keep it up with the woodwork. I'll teach you some new stuff when we're done on the boat, how's that?" The instant beam that shot across the kid's face was answer enough. Chuckling, he pulled Tony in for a hug, with the younger man instantly melting against his torso, appreciating a hug that didn't come directly after being in all kinds of trouble all the more.

Suddenly shooting up, the senior agent grinned. "I've got my eye on a slice of cake out there, and I'm pretty much prepared to fight Ziva to the death for it. But…I'd rather not, being a _gentleman_ and all. So I'll send her in next, ok?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and shot into the kitchen, hollering for the opponent in his cake war. Laughing quietly, Gibbs placed the box carefully on the table beside him, and smiled at it.

 _Boss' day…whenever the hell that came into play, and whoever the hell came up with it….wasn't all that bad._

His thoughts were broken as a dubious looking Ziva entered the room. "He is sending me in here so he can gobble down that cake," she declared wryly, "he is like the rat that got the cream." Gibbs snorted. "Cat, Ziva, cat," he corrected fondly, as she slid down beside him on the sofa, instinctively resting against his side. She looked up at him in confusion. "Tony does not like cats," she contested, "I do not think he would give one any cream."

Opening his mouth, Gibbs shut it again with a smile.

"Sure," he agreed peaceably, "you're probably right."

She grinned that grin he loved at him, and dropped a small parcel into his lap. An almost identical expression of shyness crossed her face as had her gifting predecessors, as she watched him pluck it up. Gibbs carefully removed the meticulously taped wrapping paper, and blinked down at what it revealed. He was starting to think that even the best of the best surgeons wouldn't be able to operate on the lump in his throat.

The beautifully framed sketch threw him, as did the other side of double frame, encasing a live print. He looked at Ziva in emotional confusion. She smiled gently back at him, as she laid a light hand upon her shoulder. "I was fixing my desk earlier this week, you know how that wobbling _irritates_ me, and I found that…she must have put it there. I thought," she looked slightly apprehensive, "it would be nice for you, to remember her."

Gibbs nodded slowly, and ran a thumb over the first portion of the large frame. A Kate creation, of his team from earlier days. A grinning Tony, Tim and a beaming Abby and Kate, with a smiling LJ Gibbs in the background. His other thumb roved the photo side, a similar scene, but in real time print, with a grinning Tony, Tim and a beaming Abby and Ziva, with a smiling LJ Gibbs in the background.

He looked at her, and there was no hiding the raw emotion in his eyes as he placed a gentle hand under her chin. "Thanks kiddo," he managed to get out, "I love it." He took a deep breath, and ran his eyes over her. "and I love _you."_ She relaxed instantly, and allowed herself to melt into his tight embrace. She knew he was more open with Abby and herself, and as she looked up at him, she sighed in contentment. "And I, you, Gibbs," she replied in their now habitual endearment. "I do not ever hear you telling the boys that," she suddenly accused, with a joking lilt in her voice.

Gibbs looked down at her askance.

"We're _men_ Ziva," he laughed, and squeezed her tighter still, "besides, just because you don't hear me, doesn't mean I don't tell them." She looked up at his twinkling eyes, and rolled her dark counterparts. " _Men,_ " she tutted, "you are all so….emotionally stunted."

Before he could garner a fitting response to defend his gender, his youngest was suddenly out of his arms and heading towards the kitchen, after pecking him on the cheek with dire warnings that he _may_ want to _tell_ Tony he loved him, because if that cake was gone, he was a dead man. Over his exasperated laughter, he heard the unmistakable sounds of her slapping DiNozzo and winced. He should probably intervene, but …what the hell, let them at it. Ducky was in there, he would make sure his second in command wasn't murdered in a grizzly dessert death.

Looking up, he smiled as his youngest boy flew into the room with a wounded expression on his face. Feeling his poor sofa groan as the kid threw himself down on it, Gibbs turned to him with a raised brow. "Don't tell me that _you're_ arguing about this cake too?" The highly affronted look sent his way had him laughing apologetically. "I was nearly _killed_ in the cross fire," his junior agent huffed, before letting a grin spread over his boyish face. "How're you coping? Tony and I have a bet going, he thinks you won't make it through cake, but I don't think you'll even make it through dinner."

Gibbs sighed jokingly, and gently rapped the kid round the head.

"Cheeky pup," he reprimanded playfully, "I'll _have_ you know I can _be_ a…uhh, a party person?" The snort that he received in answer was not all that flattering, but he rolled his eyes in agreement. "I'm coping just fine," he grinned, before sobering slightly. "You four _really_ didn't have to do this," he mumbled with a small blush, "I don't need any credit for being your…well, I don't need any credit."

With Ziva's words ringing in his ears, his blush deepened as he reached out and ruffled Tim's hair.

"You lot are credit enough," he said quietly, whilst making a devout promise to himself that if _any_ of his four told _anyone_ he suffered from these… _emotions,_ they wouldn't sit for a week. Scratch that, a month. Before he could _relay_ this threat to his younger boy, the kid was holding out a present with the same sheepish expression the other three had shown. Giving Gibbs once again pause to consider how four, completely non blood related people, could be so alike in their mannerisms without even realising it.

Fumbling with the paper, his eyes crinkled at the sides when he pulled it away. Looking up at his tech genius, he smiled deeper still. Before he could say a word, Tim's anxiousness got the better of him. "I refurbished it from that time the power and networks were down at the office," he said quietly, a definite blush creeping throughout his cheeks, accompanied with a shrug. "I guess I just thought…you know, it might be easier for you…to uhh…"

Gibbs smile widened, with a deep chuckle forming in his throat.

"Easier for me to keep up?" he supplied helpfully, a definite twinkle in his eyes as Tim laughed in relief and gave a nod. Still smiling, Gibbs turned the once dusty, but now gleaming PDA over in his hands, memories fluttering around his head. "Shannon gave me this," he murmured suddenly, "she was always nagging me to get with the times…" Beside him, Tim nodded slowly. "I know," he replied quietly, "I saw the inscription and…well you've kept it all this time so I guessed it was important to you," he broke off and flushed a little bit more, "I hope you don't mind that I erm...tweaked it a bit."

Acting on pure instinct, Gibbs shrugged his youngest boy into a hug and shook his head.

"Not at all," he assured him quietly, "I love it Tim… thank you." He felt the kid beam in his arms and smiled to himself, marvelling at how much of an uptake one day could take, in such a short space of time. Ruffling the boy's hair, he released him from his embrace and made to stand, indicating the mealy that was now streaming through the kitchen. "We better get back in there before Ziva and Tony turn my house into a crime scene," he laughed, tugging Tim up, who indicated that he was far too full to stand under his own steam.

He didn't make it any further than half way across his living room floor, before being accosted by Ducky, who was _also_ clutching a package. Smirking, Tim abandoned the party dignitary, and sped into the kitchen, despite being full fully refusing to allow Tony to eat _everything_ that he wanted. Blinking in the speed of the kid's departure, Gibbs turned to Ducky and raised a brow.

"So… _you_ were in on this, and didn't think to tell me?"

Looking up at him with a bemused chortle, the kindly ME shook his head in mock askance. " _Really_ now, Jethro, don't you understand the basic concept of a _surprise_ party?" He paused to dramatically straighten his bow tie, "because as I understand it, the star is supposed to be… _surprised."_ The man showed no remorse, no trepidation and absolutely no regrets and Gibbs had no choice but to laugh in surrender.

Grinning, Ducky reached out and deposited a small, soft package into his old friend's hands. Looking down, Gibbs groaned and shook his head. "Aw hell Duck," he protested, "I might be your boss on paper, but we both know you'd kick my ass up and down the yard if the mood took you." Snorting in laughter, the doctor nodded his agreement. "Quite Jethro, quite," he chuckled, "but that little token isn't from _me,_ it is from young Mr Palmer…who I am quite sure your brood are in the midst of corrupting."

Gibbs gaped for a moment, before recovering.

"Palmer?" he repeated in surprise, "that kid can't say two words in front of me without having some kind of a seizure. What gives?"

Ducky stared, with a sudden sternness.

"Indeed," he agreed, "you _might_ think about throwing the boy a kind word now and again Jethro, really, I mean to say he's _terrified_ of you. But for some reason, finds you most admirable. I must confess that I am fortunate not to be overly sensitive, else I would fear he was more attuned to your…ahh, _efficient_ demeanour than _my_ rather… _British_ way of doing things."

Gibbs spluttered, feeling a sudden warm affection for Palmer. He _did_ like the kid, but just found it hard to relate to him. He was like an odd nephew that he didn't see often, but did harbour positive feelings for. He made Ducky happy, which was a golden ticket with him anyhow. Holding the little package in his hands, he made a silent commitment to drop an "atta boy," in the kid's direction.

"So, how're you enjoying your celebrations?" Ducky suddenly enquired, the same roguish glint in his eyes that had been evident in Tony and Tim's.

Gibbs grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not bad at all," he admitted softly, "they've gone to a lot of trouble…especially considering how much of a jerk I was with them today," he looked up at the sounds of their joviality and his smile turned rather nostalgic, "I'm pretty lucky I guess, Duck. I've never even _heard_ of Boss' day before though," he added, "poor Leon will think I don't care about him anymore."

There was a silence as Ducky stared for a moment, before shaking his head with a certain degree of exasperation.

"Come now," he said softly, "surely you know what date it is? What holiday it is?"

Gibbs blinked.

"Uhh…," he faltered, "aw hell Duck, they have all these new fangled holidays these days, it could be national pet your frigging turtle day for all I know. Why?"

Dr Mallard smiled softly, amazed as always at how such an attuned investigator often missed what was under his very nose. Reaching out, he pressed a light hold on Gibbs' arm, to restrain him from going into to break up what now sounded like a pretty well established fight between his two boys. Looking up at his oldest friend, his eyes twinkled boldly behind his well worn glasses, as he tilted his head to the side in fond exasperation.

"It's Father's Day, Jethro."

…..

TBC

….

A/N: Ok, so I changed my mind for this chapter. This is shameless, sappy, sugar filled fluff! Apologies if Gibbs seemed OOC in this, I have four different Gibbs' on the go at the moment, and cross contamination is quite possible. Wow, this chapter _is_ mushy, but I have no regrets!

Until next time.

-Inks.


	14. Review Regrets

Whistling out of sheer boredom, Tony rocked back and forth on his chair. The bull pen was irrepressibly boring when it only held a single occupant. His green eyes swivelled to Tim's empty desk, and he huffed indignantly. Probie always got to go his damned tech fest, Vance just _loved_ him and trusted him with the Agency purse strings. Abby too.

They were probably having a whale of time, while he was stock doing case review. Huffing some more, his gaze fell upon Gibbs' desk, which was also, glaringly empty. He'd been shut away in MTAC all damned day, doing god knows what. Some things, even as SFA, he wasn't privy to. He didn't mind that, it was understandable, it was still however….irritating.

Irritating in the way, that _he_ was the only one being forced to sift through mountain upon mountain of paper debris. His breath billowed from him as he sighed heavily. Chewing a pen with more ire than it could possibly deserve, he fished out his cell and grinned when he saw the cause of its vibration. Carrie, was positively one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met. They'd been chatting and flirting for about a week now, and his charms apparently seemed to have paid off.

She was free, tonight.

His grin widened further.

Looking up as Gibbs suddenly emerged from MTAC, and bounded down the stairs, he decided to hedge his bets. Glancing down at the towers of paperwork, he wished he'd made more headway. It would have helped his cause. Plastering on his most winning smile, he cleared his throat and made eye contact with his boss as he rummaged around his filing cabinet for something.

Clearly, this was a flying visit.

"Uhh…boss?" Tony began, with just the right amount of innocence, "can I ask you for a favour?"

Scanning the report in his hand, grateful for the two second break away from Leon and all the irritation that came with him, Gibbs nodded tersely. "You can ask, DiNozzo, but be warned…I'm not in a favourable mood." Rolling his eyes at the paper in his hands, he threw it aside, and began rooting through the file drawer he held open once more.

Groaning inwardly, Tony cursed. He was hoping for a favourable Gibbs.

"Right," he replied jauntily, "I get that, but…uhh, with Tim and Abby away today, and Ziva getting her arms qualification re-cert today.." he paused, to laugh internally at the idea of a scowling Ziva being forced to comply with the five yearly evaluation of fitness to carry, before continuing. "Well, with them all gone, and you in MTAC, and with no active cases….I was uhm…"

Scowling at the report in his hand, Gibbs directed a portion of the expression in Tony's direction. "Spit it out, DiNozzo, unless you're asking me out on a date, in which case, keep it in." Rolling his eyes at the reprimand come joke, Tony swallowed. "Right, well…I was just wondering if I could uhm, take an early dart, today?"

Gibbs looked up, locked his gaze on the still momentous heap of paperwork on Tony's desk and raised a brow. "That lot finished?" he asked tersely, turning once again to sort through his own files. Glancing guiltily down at the stacks, the younger man cleared his throat shiftily. "Well…no, not exactly _finished,_ per se…" he mumbled, "but…"

"But nothing," Gibbs interrupted, having found the paperwork he needed and sweeping across the bull pen, landing in front of his second's desk. "You can go, when it's done, and not before then." His eyes quickly appraised the amount of work done, and he held up a hand to stop the onslaught of complaints. "If you really wanted an early finish Tony, you would have actually gotten through _some_ of it, at least before asking. What have I told you about negotiating?."

With that, he made to sweep from the communal area but the miserable expression on the kids face drew him back and he sighed. "Get through half of them," he conceded gruffly, "and then get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Waiting until he was turned away from the young man, before smiling softly at the beaming expression on his face, he reluctantly bounced back up the stairs to MTAC. As the door shut behind him, Tony returned to his work with a fervour, already looking forward to the movie he was going to bring Carrie to see.

She'd love it.

Working as fast as he possibly could, he was amazed at the speed at which the tower he'd chosen dwindled. Three or so hours later, and as the hunger pains began to kick in, he signed off on his last report with a flourish. Glancing at the time, he saw it was only four thirty pm. Grinning from ear to ear, he stood up and shrugged into his suit jacket.

For a brief moment, as he stacked the completed files neatly back into their archive boxes, he considered heading up to MTAC to tell Gibbs he was done. His brow furrowed for a moment, before deciding against it. It was safe to assume, that the never bother Gibbs in interrogation rule, applied to MTAC as well.

Plus, Vance was like an infected weasel today.

Best to steer well clear.

Whistling a jaunty tune as he made to stride happily from the bull pen, his eyes caught something in their peripheral vision. He felt his eyebrows raise at the still ajar filing drawer. Gibbs was anal about many things, but he was _especially_ anal about never, ever leaving his filing cabinet unlocked. Ever, without exception.

His front door, yes.

His filing cabinet, no.

Striding across to close it shut, upon which it would lock automatically, Tony glanced down habitually and was stopped in his tracks. There was a file in the drawer, with his name on the tag. He chewed his lip, curiosity beginning to rise like floodwater inside him. None of them had ever seen any file Gibbs held on them, though logically, they knew he must have one.

The glaring "DiNozzo, A," tag shone up at him as he continued to wrestle with himself. It was _his_ file, so what was the harm in having a little peek? It wasn't as if he were nosing into someone _else's_ file, it was _his._ There was nothing, there _could_ be nothing in there that he didn't already know, so what would be the harm?

Shifting from one foot to the other, as he contemplated, he stole a gaze around the office space. It was completely, and utterly empty. No one would know. If the security cameras were ever reviewed, of which the chances were minute, it would just look like he was checking a file. He chewed his lip once more, came to a split second decision, and pulled his file from the assortment it resided amongst.

Resting it down on top of the rest them, he flipped it open to a small stack of paper. Flicking through it quickly, he smiled at his yearbook photo from OSU. God, he was good looking. Most of the collection, was pretty mundane. Work history, educational history, commendations in the field.

The usual jacket of a law enforcement official.

About to throw it back into the cabinet, having decided it was suitably mundane and disinteresting, a scrap of paper caught his eye. Instead of being filled with type print, it was filled with Gibbs' unmistakable handwriting. There had clearly been a date on the piece, but Tony's eyes skimmed past it as it had become smudged, and the lure of a _full_ page of the boss-man's writing was too much. Running a hand through his hair, he settled in for the read, his eyes running rapidly over the bold text that was squeezed into a pre-printed template form.

 ** _Performance Review of_** _:_ DiNozzo, Anthony, Special Agent.

 ** _Compiled by:_** Gibbs, Leroy Jethro, Special Agent.

 ** _Relationship to Employee:_** Supervisory Agent.

 ** _General Comment Section_** _:_ This agent shows a complete disregard for a basic chain of command. Questioning of orders, is a common occurrence. The agent also lacks an appropriate professional manner, and an ability to treat teammates with due respect and deference, particularly female and probationary teammates. Crime scene etiquette also presents a challenge for this agent, and tangents coupled with inappropriate comments are commonplace. His interactions with the public can be considered unprofessional, and unbecoming of a federal agent. With regards to ability, this agent is average. Leadership potential appears to be negligible, not that any ambition for professional improvement has ever been shown. It is my general opinion that this agent should not operate in the field, nor should he hold a position of such responsibility as Senior Field Agent. It is also my opinion that should this agent continue in a field based capacity, his lack of natural ability and an unwillingness to follow orders, will eventually result in an injury to either himself, or a teammate. It is my recommendation that this agent be reassigned to a desk based capacity, or any other available clerical role, with immediate effect.

 ** _Signed, in declaration of factuality (at time of print):_** Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Special Agent.

For a moment, his heart forgot to beat. It literally, didn't have the sensibility to pump blood throughout his interconnection of veins, in that moment. Feeling light headed and devishly queasy, Tony eventually managed to, with trembling fingers, place the form back where he'd found it. With equally shaking hands, he somehow managed to press the file back into its original location, snapping the drawer shut with a bang.

He wanted to throw up.

Scratch that, he _needed_ to throw up.

Stumbling from the bull pen, he somehow managed to make his way out of the building and into the parking lot. Sliding into his car, without consciously registering he was doing so, he gripped the steering wheel so tight the whites of his knuckles were dangerously close to the surface of his skin. The sick, seeping feeling of the most venomous betrayal spread throughout him, as he sat, stationary.

The words that were inked into that form, were now branded into his mind. As if he had some class of eidetic memory, he found himself mouthing the sentences into thin air. The more he mouthed, the more the waves in his stomach crashed against each other. Starting his car, without knowing why, or where he was going, he soon found himself edging out of the Navy Yard.

It was perhaps a combination of his familiarly with his commute, and his natural driving ability, that kept him safe from collision. Because, he didn't really see the road, he didn't really see _anything._ Only that form, and those words. Stalling at a red light, without really registering it, his cell in his pants pocket shrilled.

Fishing it out, out of habit more than anything, he glanced at the caller ID. Seeing Harry's name was a surprise, his frat brother usually only called if he were in town. Answering, without knowing why, he held the phone tightly to his ear and gave an even tighter "hello." The bright voice that filled the other end, made his teeth clench, when usually his eyes would bounce. The invitation for a drinking blow out with a who's who of their old college crowd was about to be resolutely turned down, with explanations of work in the morning.

Work…

Where he was apparently going to become a secretary, which, was probably what _today_ had been _all_ about. Training him for his new role. Betrayal seemed to transition with a river flow force to raw anger as he held the phone to his ear. His voice rang out, in a good interpretation of his usual breezy demeanour, as he swallowed the decline in his throat.

"Sure man, that sounds great," he agreed, "where are you all at?"

The voice hesitated for just a second. "We're at Frank's place, it's a good bit out. But c'mon DiNozzo, I know you probably have work in the morning, but can't you just pull a sick day? Just this once man, you know you want to!"

Hearing his frat brother's cheer in the background, Tony found himself nodding.

"Yeah, you're right," he answered quietly, "I sure as hell want to."

The cheering was to be expected. Hanging up on his friend, and changing the direction of his car, Tony loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.

Unprofessional huh?

He'd _show_ that hypocritical bastard just how _unprofessional_ he could really be _._

….

TBC

….


	15. Damn

Sunlight pierced his closed eyes like darts on a creaking, well worn board. Groaning feebly in his half sleep, he placed a protective eye over his beleaguered lids and grunted as the beginnings of what was potentially going to be one of the worst hang over's of his natural born life hit him. Green pupils peeked through timidly, and the tidal wave of pain seized its advantage, and surged forwards. Gulping, Tony sat up slowly, blankets falling off him and seized his throbbing head. The room was spinning, and his gut was churning, with the stench of stale alcohol in the room exacerbating both.

He took a deep breath and looked around his sleeping quarters. Body after sleeping body met his gaze, all snoozing, all unaware of the pain they would be in when they woke. He blinked, and registered his desperate thirst. Inching out of the bed that somehow managed to house eight of OSU's finest alumni; he stumbled out of the room, carefully stepping over lifeless forms on the way out. Staggering down the stairs of the unfamiliar home, he somehow navigated his way into the kitchen and was soon chugging down glass after glass of water.

Standing upright at the kitchen sink, and swiping a hand across his face, he winced as a bright display hurt his sensitive eyes. Blinking, he suddenly wished he hadn't drunk so much water. Staring with ferocity at the clock in front of him, he let out a little whimper. It was past _noon._ The panic instantly started up in his lower abdomen, as he frantically scrabbled in his jeans pocket for his cell. The glaring interface cut his pain even further, as did the information it was displaying. Twelve missed calls from Gibbs, nine from Tim and eight from Ziva. Thirteen voicemails, and a final message threatening a GPS hack and/or a search party.

The room spun.

He was so dead.

But suddenly, as he stood rooted to the spot, his panic began to fade away. Why should he _care_ what Gibbs did, or what he thought of him? Hell, he already _knew_ what he thought of him. Unprofessional, unable, unsuitable. A liability. So…what harm if that dead weight was a little late. It just gave all the _professional professionals_ some adult time, whilst the stupid, frat boy kid was out of sight. Throwing down some more water, Tony smiled with no warmth, and no humour, and slowly trudged back upstairs to collect his shirt.

He was already late.

What was the rush?

Twenty or so minutes later, and he slunk into his car that mercifully hadn't been damaged in whatever the hell went on in that house and out of it last night. Slowly inching out of the gate, he prayed that the aspirin he'd thrown down would get to work. He contemplated going home and showering, but decided against it. He was so hung-over; he knew the smell of alcohol was seeping through his pores. Plus, he had a clean shirt at the office. His teeth were brushed with some poor comrade's brush, and he was about as presentable as he could make himself.

A long bout of silent driving later and he was swinging his car into the Navy Yard. Usually, he got a kick out of coming to work. He loved his job, he really did. And…well, he thought he was a damn good agent. But, apparently, he was wrong. Apparently, he was a burden on the payroll that should be shuffling papers on some forgotten floor, out of the way of the real workers. Sighing, and feeling another bout of vomiting come on, Tony smiled his way through security as best he could.

Ambling into the bull pen, he expected to feel a wave of fear and regret. Instead, he felt nothing. Also, there were no team-members present, so he didn't have to pretend to give a damn. Slamming open his desk drawer, he quickly excised a more presentable shirt, and shrugged into it, ignoring the scandalised looks from passing employees. He didn't know what their problem was. Isn't getting changed in the middle of the office how unprofessional people behave?

He was just being consistent, is what he was.

Throwing the soiled shirt into the drawer, the thrust it shut and fell into his chair. He didn't even pretend to make a start on the pile of memos on his desk, or the slurry of emails on his computer. Hell, he didn't even pretend to keep his eyes open. Leaning back in his chair, he let them fall and pondered his next career move. Clearly, he couldn't stay at NCIS. Not….when everything he thought to be true had been a lie.

He thought he and Gibbs had a…well, had a _something._ The man was so much more than a boss to him, and he looked up to him in every way imaginable. He knew that he drove him crazy sometimes, but he _never_ thought that his opinion of him was what it was. The words that remained burned into his mind seemed to float over his semi conscious state mockingly, driving the point home.

 _You're useless…._

 _You'll never amount to anything…._

 _Being a cop is a fool's game…_

 _You're an embarrassment…._

Scrunching his eyes shut against the familiar monologue, the feelings of hurt began to temper the feelings of anger. He never thought Gibbs would think of him like his father thought of him. He thought Gibbs had seen through all his masks, and knew the real him. Obviously, he had never been more wrong in his entire life. He'd managed to block out his over thinking of the situation last night, as he slipped into his jovial role, as the life and soul of the party, with the sweet aid of beer.

Lots of beer.

Now, alone, and sober…suffering the after affects of said sweet beer; he had only his thoughts for company. There was a strange hollow feeling inside him, as he stared unseeingly at his desk. He…felt betrayed somehow. The fact that the one person he felt he could always count on, and always had his back, didn't want him around. Wanted him gone as quick and as far as possible. Felt he was a danger to the others.

A problem that needed solving.

Looking around the bull pen that he once felt so at home in, he shivered. He never, ever, in his wildest dreams thought that he could feel the same way within the confines of those orange walls that he did in his lavish childhood home, or his warehousing summer and boarding schools. But, he did. He felt totally out of place, and out of sync.

Suddenly, he didn't know why he came in, and why he was still sitting there. He stood, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head, and strode out from behind his desk. He needed to go, they wanted him to go, everyone would be happy if he was just _gone._ He glanced at Gibbs' desk as he walked towards the elevator, and wondered how happy he would be if he were to come in and find his resignation on top of it.

With that horrible, draining thought for company, he viciously stabbed the elevator button and waited with a painfully pounding heart for it to open. Miserable images of job hunting came into his mind, made all the worse by the obvious inability to get a reference. He…well he didn't think he'd be leaving NCIS of his own accord. It was the first job he hadn't run screaming from after three or four years, and it was the first place where the people around him were so much more than colleagues.

Well, at least that's what he'd _thought._

He'd keep in contact with McGee, Abbs and Ziva…but that would peter out, these things always do. He already knew he wouldn't be in touch with Gibbs. Hell, the man would probably block his number and have him on the no-fly list the minute he was out the damned door. There'd probably be some Harvard know it all in his chair within three days of his departure. Someone…who didn't talk excessively, or have inappropriate conduct with female and probationary team members.

Well, _good luck to him_ Tony thought with a mixture of scorn and misery. He'd need it, whoever he was. Because, Gibbs…two faced son of a bitch that he was, would build him a nice and deep hole of false belief and stability, before burying him alive in it. Or maybe, such conduct was especially reserved for him, _Special Agent Screw Up._ With that last, viciously self deprecating thought in his mind, the doors pinged and he made to throw himself through them.

But he found he couldn't.

Because there was a wall in front of him. A three part and human wall.

Ziva and McGee exchanged horrified looks when they caught sight of their usually sharply dressed SFA, looking like some sort of panto ragamuffin. Their gazes instantly turned sympathetic when they caught the burning look in Gibbs' eyes as he took in his second in command, and the unmistakeable and infamous tightening of the jaw. The coffee in the man's hand was squeezed firmly, and the two younger members of Team Gibbs took this as their cue to leave.

Skirting out of the lift and shooting Tony looks of the utmost concern and sympathy, they flew to their desks and started typing and chatting loudly. In any other instance, where he would have given a damn about Gibbs' anger, Tony would have been grateful for their tact. Now, however, as he stared steadily at the man, he found he couldn't care less about what he had to say. Looking at him coolly, he was spared from making the first move.

Stepping out of the lift, Gibbs placed himself directly in front of his SFA and stared with a look with would scare the most seasoned of Marines. His voice, when he spoke, was the all too familiar tone of choking rage. "We've caught a case," he all but whispered, "McGee and Ziva will clue you in. You will not go home when they go home. You will stay behind, and report to the conference room. Is that clear?"

The case, and only the case, coupled with Tony's sense of duty and professionalism had him nodding. Despite what Gibbs may think, and write, he _did_ have a sense of pride in his work. And if there was a case, he would see it out, before throwing in his towel. So, he gave stiff nod and an indifferent "sure thing Gibbs," before spinning on his heel, and landing himself in front of Tim's desk for a sit rep. It was because his back was turned to his boss, that he didn't see the look of utter shock that crossed the man's face, before being replaced with a considerable degree of worry.

Settling himself down at his desk, the team lead stared at the bent over heads of his junior and senior agent. He was furious with Tony, absolutely, murderously furious. But now…he was worried too, and knew he had every reason to be. First of all, the kid was clearly hung-over as all hell. Nothing new under the sun, but certainly not a common place occurrence. Secondly, he didn't seem to give a rat's ass that he was nearly five hours later, had been unreachable for hours on end, and had been caught red handed trying to walk the hell out of the bull pen.

Thirdly, he never called him Gibbs, he called him Boss. It might not seem like much of a difference to an outsider, but to the elder man, he knew it was significant. It was what the boy did when he wanted to distance himself from him. It was rare, and it was unchanging in its intention. He felt his brows knit together as he gauged the palpable sense of misery that hung over the kid. A sigh escaped him as he surveyed his second in command. Something was clearly up.

He knew he'd get to the bottom of it, he just didn't know if the kid would survive the ride.

Four hours later, saw the team at a fresh crime scene. Frowning, Gibbs watched as Tony photographed the scene without a word. Watched him dig through the dumpster, without a word. Watched him ignore an admittedly stunning girl as she tried to flirt with him, without a word. By the time they were ready to reload the MCRT van, he was beginning to feel slightly sick with worry.

Was the kid ill, or something?

Is that why he was drinking, and late?

By the time they got back to the yard, he was beginning to feel moderately faint with concern. Without hesitation, he dismissed McGee and Ziva the minute they filled in their scene reports back in the bull pen. He ignored their curious looks as they placed their files on his desk, and their clear hesitation to leave a silent Tony alone with him. Ziva, being Ziva, took the plunge. Looking over at the muted SFA, she cleared her throat.

"Tim and I are going to get Abby and watch a film tonight, will you come?"

They were no such thing, but it was a reasonable ploy to try and get the man to snap out of his apparent monk-like muteness, and redevelop a sense of damned self preservation. They both gaped when he didn't even look up at her voice, and continued staring at his desktop. Gibbs felt his gut churn even more when the kid didn't even _try_ and grab the life raft Ziva was offering. With one last worried look between them, the two dismissed members slowly left the bull pen, leaving a first and second in command decidedly alone.

Standing, Gibbs marched over to Tony's desk and jerked his head. "With me, now," he commanded quietly, but firmly, before leading the way to the conference room. Also rising, Tony trailed mutely behind him, dragging his feet and stuffing his hands in his pockets. All of the things he knew for a fact would drive Gibbs crazy. Wonderingly, the man didn't comment, as he eventually came to a halt outside the familiar, but abandoned conference room, and held the door open.

Slouching past him, Tony expected to feel a stinging slap to the back of his head for his evidently dismissive attitude, but none came. Before being asked, he threw himself down onto a chair and stared mutely and moodily down at the floor. Closing the door quietly, Gibbs couldn't quite help but feel a little bit overwhelmed at the perplexing attitude in front of him. Usually, a trip to this room only meant one thing. And yet, the kid hadn't wheedled, protested, whined or bargained.

Hell, he hadn't even looked at him for a millisecond or uttered a word in his direction.

All day.

Clearing his throat and feeling decidedly wrong footed, Gibbs leant against the table in front of his seated conundrum, and folded his arms across his chest. Sucking in a breath, he felt weariness engulf him as he considered his words, and also contemplated that he was really too old for this carry on. "Do you want to explain to me, just what in the good hell is going on with you today?" he eventually growled, his worry and anger making him even more irritable than usual.

The indifferent jerking of the shoulders and the mumbled "not really," did _not_ help matters.

"Excuse me?" he said faintly, " _what_ did you just say to me?"

Tony looked up then, for the first time, and the hurt in his eyes was clear as day, but Gibbs was thrown if he knew what the hell it was about, or why it seemed to be directed at _him._ His words, when he spoke, were equally coated in a mixture of raw anger and hurt. "I _said,_ not really," Tony repeated sarcastically.

Gibbs blinked.

"What in the _hell_ has gotten into you?" he barked, "You're enough trouble as it is, and you think giving me that attitude is going to help your case? Have you lost your frigging mind, DiNozzo?" Silence settled for a moment, as the kid looked up at the elder man with a coolness that was severely uncharacteristic.

"No," he eventually replied, softly, "I just don't really give a damn about your pissed off lecture, Gibbs. I was late, yeah, but so what? Why don't you just get the hell over it?"

Gibbs briefly wondered if he'd been drugged.

This was definitely narcotic territory.

"What is wrong with you?" he eventually asked anxiety now replacing his angry tones, "what in the world has gotten into you?" There was no verbal response, as Tony merely shrugged and stared at the floor. Gibbs felt his mouth drop. This…this kind of _disrespect_ was something he'd never seen from Tony before. He'd gotten lip, a smart ass attitude and heated outbursts from the boy, but _never_ this clinical, cold lack of respect.

Never.

"Tony," he suddenly growled, knowing that the kid tended to respond to his most authoritative of tones, "you'd better start talking to me, right now, or this sitting you're doing, it's going to come to an end. For a long time." The chilling laugh, that wasn't really a laugh at all that answered him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Looking up at him through glassy green eyes, Tony gave yet _another_ shrug.

"Go ahead," he all but _taunted,_ "go ahead and beat me if it'll make you feel better. Like I say, I really don't give a damn."

Ignoring, with great effort the deliberate and downright mean spirited use of the word "beat," Gibbs scrubbed a hand across his face and felt a tidal wave of anxiety. Looking at the slouched position of his second in command, he knew there was something seriously wrong. And so, he broke a cardinal rule of his, and dropped the pissed off boss routine, crouching down in front of the still silently staring kid.

"Please, Tony," he muttered quietly, "tell me what's wrong? I can't help you, if you don't tell me."

The anger that the younger man felt, the hurt and the sense of betrayal suddenly came together as he stared silently at his crouched down boss. The burning hypocrisy of the man made him want to drive his fist into his face and laugh all the while. He felt his lips curl up in a mirthless smile as he shook his head disbelievingly.

"You ever considered a career in the theatre, Agent Gibbs?"

Whatever the elder man was expecting to hear, it wasn't that. He suddenly wished he'd brought coffee to sustain him through his bizarre conversation, as he shook his head slowly. "What're you talking about son?" he murmured, with a slight hint of incredulity in his tone.

"Don't call me that," Tony snapped in response, "don't you dare call me that."

Gibbs merely looked his confusion.

"Call…call you _what?_ What is the _matter_ with you, would you just _tell_ me for crying out loud?"

Tony stared for a millisecond, and then erupted.

Standing abruptly, nearly knocking Gibbs from his bent down spot, who instantly straightened up, he shot the man a look of deepest loathing. "You're one hypocritical, two faced son of a bitch, you know that, _boss?"_ he snarled, ignoring the look of utter shock staring back at him. "You drag me in here, acting like you give a damn about me; all the while you're stabbing me in the god damned back. What is your _problem?_ Why couldn't you tell _me_ if you had a problem? You…you back stabbing _traitor."_

He paused to rack in a shaking breath whilst Gibbs stared agape. Really agape. Floor reaching level agape.

"I don't know why I let myself get close anyway…that's my fault, that's my bad….I should've known better," Tony muttered, running a hand through his hair and looking for a moment quite manic. It appeared he was talking to himself more than anything now, and it was all Gibbs could do to keep up with him. "I should've known that's what you really thought, should've known it was all just an act. Though _why_ you'd go through so much bother just to keep up a front is beyond me. I should….I should have seen it before, I should have seen it…."

Gibbs shook his head, as if underwater, and blinked like an extremely bewildered goldfish.

"What in the good _hell_ are you _talking_ about?" he eventually demanded, "you stop this, right now Anthony, and you tell me in plain English just what in god's name is going on in here!"

Tony stared.

…and stared.

"You cowardly son of a bitch," he eventually murmured in disgust, looking at Gibbs with a disdain he had never seen before. "You really don't have the balls to admit it? Then _fine,_ I'll do it for you." He paused for a moment, swiping a hand across his eyes. "I saw it, ok? You left your filing cabinet open yesterday, and I went to close it, and _I saw it._ What you really think, what you've always thought, but apparently are too _spineless_ to say."

He almost spat the last words, his chest heaving with the effort of his outburst. The confused look on Gibbs' face made him want to break the windows, scream, shout and roar. But he didn't, he with great effort, did not. "The _performance review,"_ he hissed in explanation, "the performance review, where in your _esteemed_ opinion, you state that I am unfit for this line of work, and should slap on a dress and spell my name with an _I_ , and have done with it. Because, according to you, I should be a _secretary."_

It was, in the immediate aftermath of what felt like a tornado, Gibbs' turn to stare.

…and stare.

Eventually, he found his voice, as he battled the conflicting war of emotion within him.

"You saw the performance review?" he repeated mildly, looking his protégée square in the eye as he nodded hotly, in evident exasperation. Also nodding, though thoughtfully, Gibbs ran a hand through his own hair and shook his head. He'd never admit it, never in a thousand years, but what had just transpired in this conference room had _hurt_ him.

A lot.

"Do you remember, Tony, back oh…I think maybe eight or nine years ago, when Morrow was the Director here?" He waited as the kid looked at him in such surprise that he forgot to be angry, and nodded his head jerkily. Continuing, he fought to keep his tone level. "And do you remember when Morrow owed a particular favour to then Director of the FBI? A big favour?"

The younger agent nodded once more, in complete bewilderment, his chest still heaving.

"And do you remember that said Director wanted… _you?_ For you to transfer to the Bureau, with next to immediate effect, and you _not_ wanting to go? Hmm? Do you remember Morrow essentially leaving you no option, basically forcing you to choose between an inter agency transfer or some bullshit dismissal for cause? Do you remember that?"

He didn't even wait for the confused nod this time, and ploughed on, his voice hardening.

"And do you remember, that night in my basement, when you came to me begging me for help? Telling me that you were happy here, for the first time, and the last thing you wanted to do was work for the feds? Do you remember all that?"

Again, he didn't wait for the nod.

"And do you remember, when I told you I would take care of it? That if you didn't want to go, I didn't want to lose you? And do you remember that the offer, if you can call it that, was suddenly terminated? Without reason given and without any blow back on you?"

Again, no waiting was offered.

"Do you want to know _how_ that happened, Tony?" Gibbs questioned dangerously, moving slightly closer to his protégée as he did. "It happened, because I wrote that bullshit review. Clearly, you didn't notice how old it was, or the fact that it was handwritten, as wouldn't be the case now. Nice investigative skills there, by the way." He took a handle on his temper, before continuing.

"I wrote that review, I sure as hell admit it. I wrote those _lies_ , because I needed you to be as undesirable as humanly possible. I wrote those lies, because Tobias owed me a favour and agreed to leak that bullshit review into the bureau, where it would eventually come to the attention of his Director. I wrote those lies; because I knew there was another guy he wanted from Homeland, who had just _stellar_ reviews. I wrote those lies; because it was the only way I could think of, to keep your ass where you wanted it to be."

The room was spinning again.

Tony stared, again.

…and stared again.

Those memories, of that time, years ago when Morrow had indeed tried to bully him into accepting an enforced position with the feds were painful. He _had_ gone to Gibbs and the man _had_ said that he would take care of it. And, he had. He had stayed with NCIS, and the matter, at the boss' insistence, was never mentioned again. A sudden, horrific thought struck Tony as he stood, swaying somewhat under the onslaught of information he'd just received.

"You…you were suspended back then," he croaked out slowly, "and you never told me why…"

Gibbs looked back at him, with a hard look in his usually bright, blue eyes.

"Morrow found out about what I did to keep you," he replied quietly, "naturally, he wasn't happy."

Tony swayed a bit more, feeling a raging dizziness spread from behind his eyes.

"Oh."

….

TBC

…..


	16. Oh Jethro

The room seemed overly constricting to him, as Gibbs swallowed tightly. The familiar rage and exasperation he was expecting to feel in the imminent wake of this latest discovery, it didn't come. Instead he was being slowly but surely filled from head to toe with a lead like disappointment and sense of…hurt. Eying the horrified looking kid in front of him, he wasn't trying to calm down like he usually was.

Because, he was already calm.

Despite the seemingly burst damn of hurt and sense of failure that was spreading throughout him like wildfire, with several years of ups and downs for fodder, he was calm.

There was a complete silence as he stared steadily at his longest serving agent, and as said longest serving agent stared back at him in unabashed horror. His hand wasn't itching to reach out and smack the kid silly, instead it hung inoffensively at his side. It didn't even twitch. Taking in a deep breath, Gibbs felt his head shaking. His voice, when it spoke, seemed to come from someone else. But he knew what he was saying and he intended to say every single word.

"Agent DiNozzo, being over four hours late without notice or reasonable explanation amounts to misconduct attracting up to and including two weeks desk duty, or a formal reprimand in your file, or at the supervising agents discretion, both. Given that your punctuality is generally acceptable, you'll be placed on two weeks desk duty immediately. You can work the base angle on the new case. However, if you are ever this late again without notice or reason, I will be referring your case to HR for review."

He didn't even pause to be affected by the shocked expression, the _really_ shocked expression that was spreading across Tony's face as he strode to the conference room door. "I expect you to be at your desk on time tomorrow, agent, but for now you're dismissed." He pulled the door open, and jerked his head in the opening it created. "Off you go."

Tony, swaying slightly on his heels, stared dumbly at the direction of the door and his boss in shocked silence. It _looked_ like Gibbs, and the voice sure _sounded_ like Gibbs, but he had never heard a more un-Gibbs' like speech before in his life. A sense of raw panic was setting about him now as he looked miserably at the man. It appeared, that what he always secretly feared would happen, was happening.

He'd pushed the man too far.

And now, he was quite clearly washing his hands of him.

His stomach clenched in fear. He'd had dreams like this. Well, nightmares really.

"Boss," he croaked out slowly, "I-", cutting him off with a sharp cough, Gibbs shook his head. "I said you're dismissed Agent DiNozzo, now janitorial need to lock up what's not being used, and this room is no longer being used, so you need to leave… now." With that, he snapped his mouth shut and stared at some point directly over Tony's head. There was another suffocating silence as each man felt words fail them.

Feeling his heart sink lower than he could ever remember, Tony somehow got his feet into action, whilst feeling as though he were literally walking though the most horrific of all horrific nightmares. Somehow making it to the door, he looked at the man, who in that moment was alien to him, but his look didn't get far. Smartly reaching around the younger man, Gibbs yanked the conference room door shut with a snap.

"Boss," Tony tried again, feeling bile rise in his throat and a cramp that had nothing to do with drink in his stomach. His efforts were futile as Gibbs turned on his heel with a very quiet "don't forget to drop your firearm into lockup," before speeding off in the direction of the exit.

Suddenly and abruptly left on his own, Tony blinked rapidly. What had just happened… he couldn't quite process it. His brain seemed absolutely incapable of absorbing the intense shift in his world's axis, and so he remained in the corridor, feeling quite possibly more alone than he had ever felt in his entire life. Eventually, a small voice in his head told him he couldn't stay there all night. Gibbs' parting gift of ordering him to divest himself of his firearm seemed to magnify in his skull, and he trudged off in the direction of the lock up.

Mainly because he didn't know what else to do, or where to go.

He didn't really register the fact that his feet were propelling him forwards. He didn't register the looks of concern on passing colleagues faces as he passed them. His brain was saturated with the words of the man who had basically just kicked him out of the house. His breathing was difficult and laboured as he walked, fighting the urge to run. A brief flicker of hope that he _was_ indeed dreaming struck him, and he pinched the skin on his forearm, hard.

The answering pain was instantaneous.

He definitely wasn't dreaming.

Spluttering slightly on the realisation, he started when he realised he was outside HR. Knocking with a sense of misery and hopelessness he hadn't felt in years, he slouched in at the answering prompt. Sighing when he realised who was on duty, he tried to suppress a scowl. Mary of HR was notorious. She took almost sadistic delight in the misfortune of the agent's who were sent to deal with her unwieldy office. Rumour had it, that she had failed FLETC training at least five times and was therefore bitter about her own inability to become an agent, taking out that bitterness on the poor souls who _were_ capable.

Removing his gun from his belt, suddenly feeling stark naked at its loss, Tony didn't even try to appear nonchalant. Handing it over into stunned hands, he spoke in the most monotonous tone he had ever heard escape his own mouth. "I need my clearance level and carrying privileges altered for the next two weeks, of which I'm on desk duty" he muttered, "Agent Gibbs' orders." The slack look of shock in Mary's face instantly morphed into a toad like sense of glee.

"My my," she murmured, caressing his gun in a way that made Tony feel sick, "I don't think HR has _ever_ had the privilege of revoking privileges for one of _Gibbs'_ puppies." She placed a sardonic, plump hand over the place where a human heart should be, and cooed dramatically. "Nope, this is _definitely_ a first. And _you…._ I thought you were his _favourite_ little labradoodle?"

Tony felt the dignity surge up in him that allowed him to scowl.

"Why don't you take my place then _Mary?"_ he snapped, "oh that's right, you can't. Because you couldn't even get past first base, right?" He was rewarded when the smug simpering instantly surged into scowling huffing as she rooted around in her desk drawer for some infernal form. She set about asking a series of sniping questions that Tony knew he was required to answer, but felt each syllable stick in his throat.

The smug look reappeared for an instant as Mary got to the last question. "Reason for temporary reassignment?" she grinned, making Tony for the first time contemplate strangling a woman. "That's hardly necessary," he gritted out, which only made her beam all the more. "Oh I assure you," she countered, patting the form with a pudgy hand, "it's _quite_ necessary."

Suddenly wanting nothing more than to bolt from the building, Tony bit down his diatribe and ground out a quiet "tardiness," through his teeth. Her chucking was like nails on a chalkboard to him as she wrote. "All done then," she simpered, placing his form back into her drawer. "Enjoy your two weeks now, won't you Agent DiNozzo?"

Ignoring her, with considerable difficulty, Tony spun on his heel and left the room feeling considerably less dressed than when he had entered. He didn't know how, but somehow he was stumbling out to his car a couple of minutes later, before sliding in and gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles screeched in protest. He sat there for a long time, not moving. He didn't trust himself to drive.

He had worked for Gibbs for a long time, and pulled a lot of stunts. And this was the first time he saw himself looking down the barrel of gun-less benching as a consequence. He felt his stomach roar in pain as Mary's smug, but true, fact-giving bored into his brain. Gibbs did not _do_ NCIS approved sanctions. Ever. He bawled people out, smacked them upside their heads and if their surnames ended in David, McGee or Sciuto….he went the extra mile.

That list used to comprise the DiNozzo surname, but it had apparently just been scratched off the list. Suddenly struck with the urge to get home, Tony roared the car into action and screeched from the lot. He _knew_ he messed up. He did know that. He knew that Gibbs had a thing about his filing cabinet, which they all assumed to be a Marine thing. He knew he had violated the man's trust and privacy by rooting through it, and he knew he had jumped the gun with his assumptions. Something he knew Gibbs warned against time and time again.

He knew that he had hurt the older man, he wasn't stupid, and he knew that. He knew that he had basically taken the sacrifice Gibbs had made for him all those years ago, squirted some cream on it and smashed it into the guy's face. He knew that. He _really_ knew that. But….the fact that he was now out in the cold, with nothing to keep him warm but the look of cold disappointment he'd seen on Gibbs' face, was about too much for him to take.

He suddenly felt thirsty.

 _Really_ thirsty. His hands trembled on the wheel at the thoughts of soothing, numbing alcohol. His favourite bar wasn't far, there was nothing stopping him from having one or one hundred. Stalling at both a physical and mental crossroads, he hesitated. Two honking horns behind him jolted him into action, and he consciously turned in the direction of his apartment.

He took some solace in the fact that he _was_ still capable of making sensible decisions.

An hour or so later, and he was slumped on the sofa in a miserable ball. One his all time favourite films flickered in front of him, but he might as well have been on another planet. His hand rested on his cell, having been snapped shut on his twenty fifth hesitation on phoning Gibbs. The man didn't want to hear from him, it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. As the misery reached his throat and constricted his breathing, whilst a minute trace of moisture found his eyes, he threw the cell out of his hand.

He'd give _anything_ to take his actions back, but he couldn't.

He'd give _anything_ to take his words back, but he couldn't.

He'd ruined the one relationship in his life he had always thought would be there, and as he sat in a sick ball of anguish, he just didn't know how he could face work tomorrow. The guilt bubbled inside him like magma as he looked at the phone on the floor, that he knew he couldn't use for the _one_ purpose he really wanted to.

He just didn't know how he could face…. _him._

A couple of miles away, Gibbs was throwing down his seventh bourbon. Resting his head against the smooth wood of his boat, he let out a deep sigh. He…wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing or not. But…his methods, his unorthodox methods…they only worked with people who trusted him. He would _never_ knowingly implement those methods with someone who didn't think he had their best interests at heart.

That he had their damned back.

Running a sanding belt aimlessly over the hull, his mind continued to whirl, no matter how much drink he poured on top of it. The look on the kid's face as he'd left him in that hallway was effectively breaking his heart into two. Really, it was. But…he couldn't deny the fact that a part of him was telling him that he had done the right thing. The kid, he had tried with him. He had tried harder with him than with his _wives._ He had done whatever he could, whenever he could, and _still_ the boy assumed the worst.

The worst that was a direct consequence of his rooting around _his_ filing cabinet. A small trace of anger flared up in the team lead. He had a rule about that kind of thing, and they all knew it. Maybe it was a Marine thing, but he was loath to have anyone other than him accessing the information that filing cabinet held. Plus, his four didn't have _quite_ the clearance level he did, and there were things in there that were _not_ for their eyes.

He sighed as he poured out his eighth bourbon.

He was freaking tired.

The thoughts he was trying to suppress were coming at him full force, and he scrunched his eyes up in protest. All the times he'd taken Tony in hand in his own way, without the knowledge that the kid thought him capable of truly authoring that damn review. He knew the boy had trust issues, he wasn't a moron, he knew that. But…he _did_ think they were past the worst of them. He _did_ think that Tony knew what he thought of him, and how far he would go for him.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Very wrong.

The god damned hurt that was so freaking mortal in nature lapped him again, as he groaned in annoyance. This was the problem with getting too close; he reasoned miserably, this is what it led to. He cared too much about Tony, hell, about all of them. Here he was, in his basement, purposely getting drunk and missing the game because he felt _hurt,_ like some hysterical teenager. He glared into his soul, which resolutely continued to pump out the odd sense of betrayal in response.

How could Tony have _thought_ that?

The boy's words that were seared into his brain came at him once more.

 _"You're one hypocritical, two faced son of a bitch, you know that, boss?"…. "You drag me in here, acting like you give a damn about me; all the while you're stabbing me in the god damned back. What is your problem? Why couldn't you tell me if you had a problem? You…you back stabbing traitor."_

 _I don't know why I let myself get close anyway…that's my fault, that's my bad….I should've known better," "I should've known that's what you really thought, should've known it was all just an act. Though why you'd go through so much bother just to keep up a front is beyond me. I should….I should have seen it before, I should have seen it…."_

Gibbs' brows furrowed as he threw down his eighth drink, and poured his ninth. He shook his head as he ran through those words and as the feeling of hurt misery burned inside him. Suddenly, the look on the kid's face as he'd left him in that hall wasn't as painful. "Serves him right," Gibbs mumbled into his glass, but with the _tiniest_ hint of moisture in his currently, dull, lifeless blue eyes.

He wasn't sure how he could face the damned kid tomorrow.

But tomorrow, as it always does, dawned bright and early regardless of Agent Gibbs or Agent DiNozzo's feelings on the matter. Both men woke, and were for the first initial moment of consciousness unable to put a finger on why they felt so instinctively miserable. Memories flooded back to each of them, and they groaned in their first few moments of what they instinctively knew was going to be one hellacious ass day.

By eight a.m. both men were in the Navy Yard, with Gibbs reaching the bull pen first. Ziva and McGee ambled in one after the other, each set of eyes looking for Tony. They had rang and rang and _rang_ the man to see was he alright last night, but he refused to answer. They had knocked on his _door,_ and he had refused to answer. Seeing Gibbs at his desk, and not in a cell, let them know that their friend must be _alive_ at least.

As soon as they were seated at their desks, Tony entered the bull pen shaking off the _annoying_ intern that was roaming the halls that week. He didn't look in their staring direction, nor did he look in Gibbs' as he sat quietly at his desk, and flicked on his computer. Before Ziva and McGee could exchange a deeply concerned look, Gibbs' cell shrilled and his murmurings filled the air. Snapping the phone shut, he rose and grabbed his gear barking out the information of the latest scene they were visiting. Ziva and McGee instantly sprang to their feet, their eyes drawn to a kind of spastic movement at Tony's desk, as he half rose before hastily sitting down again.

Seeing them stalled, and knowing why, Gibbs growled in his throat. "Get in the lift _now,"_ he hissed, and his no nonsense tone had them instinctively scrambling for the elevator, leaving Tony and the boss-man alone in the bull pen for a brief moment. Staring intently at the morning memos on his desk, Tony didn't look up straight away as the shadow fell over his desk. But, before long he couldn't help it and he glanced up at the utterly impassive face staring down at him.

"Run down the leads that McGee sends you. There's a banking trail connecting all of these victims. I want names and addresses of those concerned by the time we get back. Understand?"

His voice didn't carry his usual brisk determination. His eyes didn't make the same kind of contact. His body language indicated he wanted to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. Tony felt his heart plummet in his chest as any signs of reconciliation were swept from the table. Not waiting for an answer, Gibbs turned and stalked off towards the elevator, without looking back.

Tony's quiet "yes boss," had never, ever been so miserable. His only minute trace of consolation came from the fact that he was alone in his shunning. The office was quiet, and no one was there to see his excommunication.

But… he was wrong.

Someone _was_ watching.

And that someone was _furious_ about what they saw. And furious about what they had heard. They were also furious about that which that they correctly surmised to be the issue. Having been present at the authoring of that infernal review some years ago, and having had occasion to be near the third floor conference room last night. The watching person took a minute to berate themselves for not intervening then, before returning to _fury._

Turning discreetly away, Dr Mallard resolved that when _Agent Gibbs_ got back, all hell was going to break loose when he got him alone. It was rare that Ducky would have a bad word to say about his esteemed Jethro, but as he clocked the look on Tony's face it was all he could to _not_ to go over there, knowing the boy would hate it, and all he could do _not_ to drag Gibbs back by the scruff of his damned collar.

His nostrils flared as he stalked back to autopsy.

Wasn't it _obvious_ what was wrong with the boy?

His nostrils flared further as he mumbled to himself in agitation.

"Oh Jethro…you buffoon of a man."

…

TBC

…

A/N: I've probably said this before, but I don't really want my Gibbs to be this perfect, flawless person that never messes up with any of the four! I wanted to do a chapter where his feelings are hurt, and he doesn't know how to deal with it, so he pushes Tony away etc. But my two favs will eventually be made whole again! Promise!


	17. Mike?

Gibbs did his best to ignore the rather frosty silence that surrounded him in the car ride back to the Navy Yard. He had had no choice but to explain, staunchly leaving out the particulars, that Tony was benched for a fortnight. The identical looks of shock on both Tim and Ziva's faces had forcibly reminded him of DiNozzo's, causing his already foul mood to sour further. They had been suppressed from asking questions with an expressive glare, but their muted stances, and pointed body language on the way back left him no doubt of their opinion on his new found disciplinary tactics.

His hands gripped the wheel as he thought longingly of home-time.

The current day… it was only three or so hours old, and he was already done with it. It was unnerving what _not_ having Tony on his six did to him out there. Every time he spotted something unusual at the scene, his instinct was to turn to his left to get his second's perspective. Today, when he turned to his left, all that greeted him was a solid wall of air. He had felt stark naked out there, as if he had forgotten to place a stitch of clothing on him this morning. He was so used, so accustomed to DiNozzo either by his side or on his heels that he spent most of today's scene investigation craning his neck to see where in the hell he was.

Before remembering, and muttering darkly to himself, either oblivious or indifferent to the looks that were being exchanged between McGee and Ziva as a result.

Turning into the Navy Yard he caught the mutinous looks between his youngest and his junior agent and resisted the urge to snarl. He wasn't aware that as team lead, he was _required_ to have his disciplinary measures approved by subordinates. Stalking out of the car, he didn't even wait for either of them as he brushed through security and grabbed a Caf-Pow, hoping against hope Abby had miraculously had some breakthrough on her side of the case. A couple of minutes later, and caffeine rich drink in hand, he swept through the doors of his lab-rat's lair in his usual style, but the greeting he received…wasn't exactly the status quo.

Looking up from the test she was currently running, Abby raised a brow in the entrant's direction. "I don't have anything for you Gibbs," she greeted him coolly, "I'll phone up when I do. Shouldn't be for a couple of hours anyway." With that, she dropped her head back into the data in front of her, her face hidden by a curtain of dark hair. Blinking at the coldness that radiated from her, Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his face and placed the drink down with a soft thud.

"Everything ok with you Abbs?" he asked in concern, moving closer to his facially obscured Goth, who, to his chagrin…took an equal step back. Still not looking up, and taking pains to record something or other on the sheet in front of her, Abby gave a non-committal shake of her head. "Nope," she muttered, "just busy. Like I say, I'll phone up when I have something for you." With the subtle turning of her body, to place her back to him, Gibbs realised he was being dismissed.

Staring at the back of Abby's head, he growled slightly.

He was _not_ in the mood for this.

"What is the matter with you?" he demanded, in a tone that was _very_ rarely used in the confines of the spic and span lab. Even at the abrupt change in demeanour, Abby kept her head buried in her reports. "Like I _said,"_ she repeated icily, "I am just busy, and when I have something…well, you know the rest." At the other side of the sanitised surface Gibbs shook his in head in disbelief. "Look at me when you're talking to me," he reprimanded quietly, but quickly regretted it when she did indeed look at him.

With eyes full of dull disinterest, fused and tinged with…disappointment?

He couldn't be sure.

"Or what?" she countered slowly, "You'll put me on desk duty too?" She laughed sarcastically, and the chilling tingling it sent down Gibbs' spine made him physically recoil where he stood. "Oh wait; I _live_ in my lab anyway. Hmm…report me to Vance then? Have my privileges suspended?" She shook her head and drew her speech to a semi close. "Fine," she mumbled, "do it. But as for right _now,_ I am _busy_ and I will phone up when I _have_ something."

Comprehension hit him full in the face.

It hit him like a two tonne bus, with a European contingent of passengers sightseeing though DC. For a moment, he did nothing and said nothing, he just stared straight ahead. Nodding to no one in particular his eventual and muttered "I can never win, can I?" was as quiet as a muttering from him had ever been. Turning on his heel he strode from the lab without a backward glance. In his wake, a slightly stunned Abby Sciuto stared at the doors that were swooshing closed. She had expected a tirade for her attitude, but Gibbs…he had just seemed, broken.

She chewed her lip.

Maybe there was more to what was going on than met the eye.

Maybe there was more to what was going on than the complete _lack_ of an explanation she had garnered from Tony, even after _expert_ interrogation. Maybe there was more to what was going on than the gloating tale Mary from HR had forced her to listen to as she had accosted her at the water cooler. Maybe…maybe there was _more._ Suddenly she wished she could have the moment to do over again. But she couldn't, and she was left with a pressing silence, a notable absence and a Caf-Pow that was dripping with condensation.

As he walked, the walls seemed to be caving in on him. He knew that Ziva, Tim and Abbs would have Tony's back to the bitter end. Hell, he insisted on it. But…did he really have to be brandished as the asshole? They didn't even know the full story, but apparently…assumptions were food for fodder when it came to his team. Apparently his rule about double checking was as easily ignored as the years he had put into each and every single one of them.

He suddenly felt every single one of his decades. A weariness was setting about him that he knew couldn't be cured with physical rest. He was tired. He was tired of trying to be all things to all people, and getting apparently nowhere for a result. He had _thought_ that his people knew him well enough to know that he would never jeopardise them. He had _thought_ that his people knew him well enough to know that he would never career off the path of the status quo unless he had damned good reason. He had _thought_ his people knew him well enough to give him the benefit of the god damned doubt.

That was the trouble with thoughts, he reasoned miserably as he strode through the halls, they lead to more thoughts. And those thoughts, that nitpicking restless, relentless scratching of thinking…it was consuming him. Trudging up the stairs, having by-passed the elevator, he rounded onto a fresh corridor and was so lost in his train of misery that he didn't notice the person approaching until he physically collided head on with the co-corridor wanderer.

Looking up at the distinctly British "oomph," Gibbs groaned inside. Now…was _really_ not the time to bump into Ducky. Especially physically. He needed time and space to clear his damned head of the incessant buzzing that was transitioning into a first class headache. He did _not_ need a lecture about the cocoon duration of the average caterpillar. About to murmur some excuse to escape, Gibbs suddenly got the decidedly _cold_ glint in his friend's eyes as he surveyed him.

His heart sank.

Had Tony gone running to Ducky as _well_ as Abby?

He might as well take out a two minute slot over the intercom and have done with it.

"Hello Jethro," Ducky murmured, and only an idiot would have missed the decidedly cool trace in his tone. Feeling his heart sink further, Gibbs nodded in answer hoping to avoid the inevitable. He should have known he was attempting to complete a fool's errand. Standing firmly in the way of any escape, the usually kindly ME blinked expectantly. "Something on your mind, Duck?" Gibbs eventually sighed in defeat. There was a silence for a moment as Ducky pondered before nodding firmly. "Perhaps you could accompany back down to autopsy?"

A tension filled stand-off of sorts transpired as the two friends stared at each other.

Ducky, was the first to break it by arching his brow and turning on his heel in the direction of his suite. Gnawing his lip for a moment, Gibbs glowered but found himself following. If it was anyone else, they would have been uncerimonously told to go to hell, but…he never _could_ be like that with Duck. Which the son of a bitch _knew_ and was pressing to his full advantage. Walking after his old friend, Gibbs was surprised he didn't really have to fight to keep his temper in check. It was like that odd moment in the conference room with Tony. He had expected to be livid, and really, he was just tired. As he trudged along now, the same confusing feeling lapped him. He had a suspicion that if he hadn't _just_ come from his encounter with Abby, he might have mustered up a little more resistance.

But he had, and he didn't.

He couldn't.

A moment later and he was throwing himself down on an uncomfortable stool in Ducky's lap, noting that Palmer was nowhere to be seen. He would have been glad of the kid's presence, a reasonable line of interference that would enable the escape he was sure he was going to need to make. He watched silently as Ducky sat down opposite him with a thoughtful expression on his face. He was suddenly forcibly reminded of the time he was sent to the principal's office in High School, with the educator professing himself as being at a loss for dealing with him.

There had been lots of silent staring in that situation also.

He blinked in surprise when the silence was broken, having resolved he wouldn't be the one to so break. Ducky's murmured "so how is your end of the case shaping up? I'm afraid with, very thankfully, no bodies to examine, I am of a bit of a non entity on this one." Staring dumbly in the direction of the ME, Gibbs eventually snorted disdainfully.

"Duck, we both know you didn't drag me down here to talk about the case. So, why don't you just say what you've got to say, call me an ass and call it a day? Because I _do_ have a case that I _do_ need to get back to."

Nodding almost thoughtfully, Ducky pondered for a moment. His initial knee jerk reaction to what he had witnessed both last night and this morning had dissipated some, and he'd forced himself to look at both sides of the coin whilst _most_ of Team Gibbs had been out at the crime scene. He had purposefully refrained from asking Tony anything, knowing that would just embarrass and distress the lad. Looking at his friend now, he saw with a stab…he looked defeated. He genuinely was waiting to be berated, his slumped shoulders were so uncharacteristic Ducky had to glance twice and he generally just oozed an aroma of sadness tinged with weariness.

The doctor rubbed at his eyes.

This…was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

"Well, Jethro…" he began cautiously, you're right. I _do_ want to talk to you about young Anthony…forgive me, but," he paused nervously, "I'm not entirely sure where to begin. I've seen you go through plenty of strife with that team of yours…but never something like this." He fixed his glasses more snugly on his nose, and peered out over their rims. "What exactly is going on Jethro?" he asked softly, "forgive me for getting straight to the point, but…clearly there is something very wrong afoot between yourself and the lad?"

Gibbs snorted at the last part.

Did the man _really_ expect him to believe that he didn't know _exactly_ what was going on? Did he _really_ expect him to believe that he and Abby hadn't been so very _obviously_ briefed on the situation? There was no other way for them to know, but…if the man wanted to play dumb, then so be it. He didn't have the _energy_ for a protracted battle. He did however have the energy to feel another slither of hurt wriggle its way into his stomach at the thoughts of Tony bleating about what had been one of the most draining experiences he'd gone through with the kid.

It was hard to believe, as he sat there, that the whole mess had only unfolded yesterday.

"I'm not really in the mood for this Duck," he sighed quietly, "what's happening between me and DiNozzo, is between me and DiNozzo." He shook his head slightly. "Not that's anything _is_ happening…it's fine, there's no need for concern." He flashed an insincere smile and threw his head in the direction of the double doors. "Therapy over then, Dr Mallard?" he drawled, "can I get up of the sofa now?"

Ducky shook his head slowly.

"Come now Jethro," he chided gently, "you mean to tell me that placing young Anthony on desk duty, is just par for the course where you're concerned? You mean to tell me that the tension between you two, that by the by, an autopsied whale could detect, is nothing? You mean to tell me that the bags under your eyes that are three shades darker than normal is just a crass side effect of aging?"

He snorted in a majestic interpretation of the man across from him.

"I may be getting old myself Jethro, but unlike my dear mother, I am as of yet in the full possession of my sound mind. Please, I am just trying to help you here, because whether you can admit it or not I know any discord between you and one of your brood, _particularly_ with young Anthony, is painful for you. Now, if you could just tell me what has happened, perhaps I could…"

He trailed off at the suddenly jumping jaw and screaming eyes.

Gibbs, had had enough.

He was tired.

He was _not_ in the mood for pretence.

"You honestly expect me to believe that Tony didn't come running in here straight after telling Abby all about what an ass I am, Duck?" he demanded. "You honestly expect me to believe that you don't _know_ that he went rooting through my cabinet, found that review from Morrow's day and proceeded to go on a self pitying bender. You honestly expect me to believe that you don't know he showed up for work yesterday over four hours late, reeking of booze before calling me every damned name under the son? You _honestly_ expect me to believe that he didn't tell you that I'm a heartless bastard, by making him ride a desk?"

He snorted once more.

"Well, I ain't buying it Duck. So you can stop selling."

He stood abruptly and ran a weary hand through his already mussed up hair. "You know, you are the _one_ who is _constantly_ telling me I'm too heavy handed with him. And the _one_ time, I go down the NCIS pussy footing approach and give him a very reasonable, normal agency approved sanction, I'm the world's biggest asshole?" He shook his head angrily, "Damnit Duck, just leave it out. Ok? I know you have a _wealth_ of experience given your stellar management of your team of _one,_ but just leave my team to me, ok?"

Ducky blinked at the sudden outburst.

"Jethro," he countered slowly, "I did not, in any way shape or form criticise your management style, I was merely just-"

"Sticking your oar where it does _not_ belong," Gibbs interrupted firmly, unsure as to where this sudden burst of irritable anger was coming from. His… _emotions,_ had been all over the place since yesterday. "You leave DiNozzo to me, just like I leave Palmer to you, ok?" He took in a deep breath and waved a hand towards the door. "I gotta go Duck…" suddenly feeling a little, well _more_ than a little bad for how he had just snapped at his friend, he shot him a look that conveyed what his words couldn't, before sighing and heading for the door.

When they swooshed shut behind him, Ducky shook his head wearily and rubbed a hand across a now throbbing forehead. That had gone about as badly as it _could_ have gone. He was struck by a deep sense of worry regarding the way Jethro had jumped to the conclusion that Tony had been down with the lower level dwellers, telling tales about his boss. Surely… _surely…._ the man knew that the young lad wouldn't do that? It simply wasn't his style. Closing his eyes tiredly, Ducky was hit by a fear that the relations between the first and second in command were in fact more dire than he had anticipated.

He chewed his lip in agitation. Should he ring up to Tony and let him know that Gibbs had taken a leap, skip and jump to the wrong conclusion, or should he just leave them to it. His attempt to help had backfired rather spectacularly, and he didn't particularly want to add any more fuel to the fire. This decision was swept from his mind for a moment when the phone rang. Sighing, Ducky accepted the urgent request to attend to a local law enforcement call out, seeing as their budget for medical examiners had been slashed nearly as bad as their victim.

It was with that, and the arrival of Palmer that the issue between Gibbs and his protégée was temporarily pushed from his mind. This was perhaps highly unfortunate, because as the present day Gibbs made his way back to his bull pen, the burst of anger he had experienced in autopsy wasn't dissipating as he would like. Striding into the communal area, he scowled when he caught the top of Tony's bent over head. Ziva and McGee were nowhere to be seen, and he presumed they were catching Abby up on their findings.

Hopefully, they'd have more success than _he_ did.

Landing himself in front of Tony's desk, he sucked in a deep breath when the kid looked up hesitantly. "What did you get from what McGee sent back?" he clipped out, taking in the ashen pallor, the dark eyes and the general jitteriness of his second, and finding for the first time that he was devoid of the need to make it all better. Said jitteriness seemed to dissolve for a moment as Tony took in his angry stance and his complete lack of obvious caring. Dullness appeared in the usually vibrant green eyes, and the voice when it spoke, missed the usual laughing tone.

"All the bank records contain matching transactions from the same shell corporation. I'm onto legal now, just waiting to see can we get a warrant to subpoena additional personal records. Should take about another hour or so to get an answer."

Gibbs nodded slowly.

"Let me know when you know," he barked, and turning away he hesitated, before turning back. "Oh, and by the by Agent DiNozzo…if you have a problem with how I'm disciplining you, I would _really_ appreciate it if you came to me, or HR with it. Abby and Ducky aren't really the most official channels, you get me?"

Tony's head snapped up from where it had began to descend as he stared.

…and stared.

"Boss," he eventually spluttered, "I swear, I didn't say _anything_ to Abby or Ducky, I-"

Gibbs shook his head.

"Save it, DiNozzo," he muttered, "and get a move on with legal. We don't have all day." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out from the bull pen, presumably in search of coffee, leaving a gaping Tony in his wake. Looking down unseeingly at the mountain of paperwork that tended to appear out of nowhere when one is confined to one's desk, he felt his soul shrivel up inside him. He had feared, well no…he had _known_ that his relationship with the man he admired most had undergone heavy fire.

But…he hadn't known the sink seemed to be sinking.

Fast.

As he sat, he couldn't quite _believe_ that Gibbs would think he would go around bleating about his desk duty reassignment. Didn't he know him at _all?_ He would never take things out of the house. His sense of loyalty would expressly forbid that. Hell, if anyone were to actually _ask_ him did he deserve what he was getting, he would say yes. He definitely wouldn't fuel the gossip he knew was most likely spreading like wildfire around the office.

Sitting there in a continued state of stunned silence, Tony found it hard to breath. Loosening the collar of his shirt, he thrust a hand through his hair in miserable frustration. Things had escalated, rollercoaster style, and he was finding it hard to keep up. Two evenings ago, he'd been given an early dart, had a great date lined up, and things were rosy. Fast forward an hour from that point and he was throwing back hard core liquor with college pals with the sole intention of getting as obliterated as possible. Fast forward some more, and his potentially most important relationship lay in ruination on the splintered appendages of what was once his core of stability.

The room was suddenly horrifically orange to him in that moment.

His head hurt, and his throat ran drier than all hell. The phone buzzed on his desk, and he barely mustered up the sensibility required to answer the damned thing. Speaking listlessly into the receiver, his forehead creased when legal promptly told him to abandon all hope regarding the warrant. Dropping the phone down as if it were a poisonous spider, his groan was guttural. Going to Gibbs with the lack of a result seemed ominously like the final nail in his coffin. He wasn't a lawyer, but he was quite sure this lack of green light would be viewed as being entirely his fault.

He was quite, positively sure.

Before he could control his rapidly beating heart and think about what to say, Gibbs was strolling back into the bull pen. His own voice scratched against his throats walls as it fell out. "Legal says it's a no-go on the warrant bo…Gibbs," he said quietly, keeping his head down. "I'll have to think of some other way to get to the records."

Throwing himself down at his own desk, the older man gave a terse nod without offering any verbal response, his subconscious filing away the change from "boss," to "Gibbs." He would later recall that fact, but for now his conscious brain refused to allow it. The two men worked in silence, each lost to their own thoughts, each hurting in their own way. After a short while, Ziva and Tim came back into the bull pen, each shooting a silently supportive look at Tony, and pointedly ignoring Gibbs, who grit his teeth in wounded annoyance but said nothing.

The atmosphere was laden down with tension, and each member struggled to operate efficiently under its oppressive weight. The stacks of paper on Tony's desk was the only witness to the rapidly dulling quality of his eyes, and the ashen spreading tinge of his pallor. It was the only witness to the cogs that were whirring with a dangerous speed in his wounded mind, and the decision they were approaching. The horrific, never before anticipated, decision. Sneaking a furtive glance at his boss, Tony dropped his eyes instantly. The rigid posture, the taut jaw and the body language said it all.

Running through the train wreck of events that had led he and the man to the unprecedented state of affairs they were in, Tony eyed the filing cabinet with misery. It seemed to glimmer at him in a mocking personification of all his failings. He shouldn't have gone near it, he shouldn't have opened that can of worms. He shouldn't have leapt to conclusions, he shouldn't have drank the needless pain away.

He was guilty of all those things.

But…he never thought the consequences of his mistakes would be so severe.

He never dreamed it would cost him so much.

Turning to his computer, he flicked on a word document and began painstakingly typing, accompanied by a heavy heart. A few moments later, frustrated by a wall of dead ends, Gibbs stood and barked the "wrap it up," order that dismissed the office. Tim and Ziva stood wearily, and McGee perched on the side of Tony's desk. "You wanna grab a beer?" he asked quietly, encouraged by a fervent nod from Ziva as she joined them. Exiting his document, Tony looked up with a fake smile plastered across his drawn looking face.

"No, I'm good guys," he declined quietly, "I want to catch up on a few things. You two go on ahead, I'll talk to you…later." The two exchanged looks, and were clearly preparing themselves to push the issue but one look at Tony's tired face, and they yielded to his wishes. "Text me if you need anything," Ziva muttered, accompanied by Tim's "yeah, me too Tony." Before the senior field agent could answer, Gibbs brushed by and the ability to speak failed him as he nodded, and dropped his head back down into his files. He could sense their absence rather than see it as they quietly peeled themselves off of his desk, and he sighed in relief as he dropped the façade and returned to being openly miserable in peace.

In the confines of the steel elevator, misery was keeping everyone company. Rounding on a tired Gibbs the minute the doors slid shut, Ziva's eyes were sparkling with anger. "What is the matter with you?" she hissed, "look at what you are _doing_ to him. He….is _miserable…_ and you…you are just going to go home and work on your damned boat and leave him here?" Usually, in the wake of such an audacious speech to the boss-man Tim would be recoiling in horror, but in this instance he stared at Gibbs with a hard look in his usually gentle eyes that screamed complete and utter agreement with Ziva's demands.

The team lead suddenly wondered what life would have been like as an accountant.

A nine-five, accountant.

That would be nice.

"Leave it alone Ziva," Gibbs gritted out, _really_ not in the mood for any more judgements on his handling of what appeared to be a nationally news worthy story. "That goes for you too Tim," he added, looking sharply at his younger boy who merely continued to stare steadily back at him in muted response. Ziva opened her mouth instantly to retort, but was halted when she caught the sudden sadness that seemed to be boring out of Gibbs' eyes as he leant back against the wall. A quick look at the more concerned expression on Tim's face let her know he caught it too.

"Boss?" McGee mumbled quietly, "is everything….uhm, ok….you know, with erm….you?"

Rubbing a hand over his face, Gibbs nodded. "Fine," he muttered, "just give me a break, would ya? The pair of you." Tim and Ziva exchanged worried looks, their anger with their boss now transitioning into a sense of deep rooted concern. "Gibbs," Ziva began, more cautiously this time, "is there something….the matter? You and Tony…it is not like you." She glanced furtively at Tim. "We are…err, sorry for giving you a harsh time earlier."

Silence reigned for a moment.

"Hard time Ziva, hard," Gibbs corrected quietly, wishing the damned lift would hurry up, "and don't apologise, it's a sign of weakness." Biting her lip and sighing slightly, Ziva turned to Tim for help, who looked just as confused as she did. In close quarters with the man, Gibbs seemed paler than usual. Moreso he just seemed…deflated. Like some weird watered down version of their usual gruff, no-nonsense boss. "Look, boss," Tim attempted, "maybe we jumped the gun earlier, but…it's just you and Tony…you know, you don't really get one without the other…it's just weird…him not being there, with you."

Gibbs briefly wondered if it was possible to become magically claustrophobic in two minutes.

"Could you two conduct your off the set chat show some place else?" he deflected, feeling so tired each syllable was a struggle. Before they could answer, the lift mercifully pinged open and Gibbs fled the steel cage as quickly as humanly possible. Before his two inquisitors could blink more than once, he had reached his car and was throwing himself into it, before roaring out of the lot as if his life depended on it. He reached his house in record time, and within a few moments was redressed in trademark jeans and red hoodie, hammering his frustrations out on his boat.

The liquor was burning his throat, and he relished it. Images from the day floated around his mind like poisonous mosquitoes, tormenting his every waking moment. Tony's face, Abby's face, Tim and Ziva's faces, Ducky's face… all swam together in a haphazard shit storm in his brain, immune to the numbing affect of the large quantity of alcohol he was throwing down. As he stared at the sanding belt, contemplating knocking the whole boat down and starting again, there was a creak on the basement stairs. Groaning, he looked up to see Ducky himself pottering down the case, and his groan instantly became a groan of utter despair.

"Not in the mood for house guests Duck," he greeted bluntly, "so for the love of god please leave me be." Completely ignoring these rather rude instructions, the slightly older man continued his descent into the basement, before placing himself uncomfortably on a vacant stool, earning a scowl from the homeowner. Taking stock of his old friend, the doctor sighed slightly. "How much have you had Jethro?" he asked gently, indicating the much depleted bottle of scotch that rested out in the open. Doggedly pouring himself another, and offering one to the arrival who politely declined, Gibbs shrugged.

"Not enough."

Knowing that he wasn't going to get any kind of fluid conversation out a moderately inebriated Gibbs, Ducky chewed his lip as he weighed his options. Deciding that, for once, one of his many monologues could serve a purpose, he drew in a deep breath.

"I'm going to talk now Jethro, and you can ignore me, you don't even have to answer me. But…I'm going to talk, ok?" Closing his eyes in weariness and knowing the only way to shut his friend up, would be to _physically_ shut him up and being unwilling to do so, Gibbs nodded his head angrily. Taking this as an invitation, however grudgingly given to start talking, Ducky repositioned his glasses and nodded sagely.

"This situation with Anthony," he began gently, "whether you want to punch me in the face for saying so or not, isn't _really_ about the young lad himself, is it?" There was no answer, and Ducky didn't really expect one so onwards he pushed. Albeit with a certain degree of hesitation. "If I had to guess, I would estimate you've been feeling a little tired, and inexplicably drained for the last week or so? Before any of the unfortunate events with Anthony began unfolding?"

This time, Gibbs looked up from the mason jar he'd been resolutely staring into. His jaw twitched as he assessed the question, and found himself internally answering in the affirmative. He'd been feeling…well, crap for the last two weeks or so. Miserable, well more miserable than usual, with no particular source. He was tired. All the time. But…he definitely wasn't sure how Ducky knew that, and as he gazed at his friend, his brows furrowed.

"You going into the psychic business, Dr Mallard?" he deflected sarcastically, "because I had a cat once. Sebastian. I sure would like to know if he got to heaven or not, can you help me out with that?" Ignoring this jibe with an expert bedside manner, Ducky pressed on. "Jethro…on what date did Mike Franks die?"

Silence slapped both men in the face.

"Excuse me?" Gibbs eventually growled, his hackles now well and truly raised. He didn't talk about Mike, with anyone, and everyone knew it. Throwing down another mouthful of burning liquor, he quickly replenished his glass. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ducky's undaunted face, still clearly expecting an answer and barely suppressed the urge to smash the jar against the wall. "July twenty first last year," he barked, "what in the hell has that got to do with anything?"

The sad smile was unnerving.

"And what date is it today, Jethro?"

Instinctively, Gibbs' eyes went to his watch which also operated as an old fashioned calendar. The only type he could understand anyway. His biting snarl declaring the whole conversation he was involved in to be moronic, his eyes widened somewhat and his grip on the mason jar slackened. Looking across at Ducky with a shocked expression on his face, he shook his head slowly.

"….July twenty first," he croaked out, finding it hard to believe that his watch wasn't lying to him. Ducky's look was so sympathetic, he had to avert his gaze as he struggled to believe it had been an entire year since he lost the man who had meant so much to him. Suddenly, a deep shame spread throughout him, so thick, that it seemed to still the blood in his veins. Shaking his head in an inane attempt to rid it, he scrubbed his face vigorously.

"How could I forget his anniversary?" he muttered in self disgust, "how _could_ I…"

At this, Ducky couldn't contain himself any longer. Jumping off his stool, he stood by his old friend and placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping it wouldn't be thrown off. It wasn't. Taking solace from that fact, he chose his words carefully. "You didn't forget Jethro," he countered, "your mind just wasn't capable of registering the milestone related to his death because…well, dear fellow, your mind has gone through a mite too much in that department already."

Gibbs stared.

"You didn't forget Jethro," Ducky reiterated firmly, "our bodies…they have their own clocks. They mark the passing of time in relation to traumatic events in their own ways. I take it, you don't need a calendar to note to coming off Shannon and Kelly's anniversary?"

Gibbs paled somewhat but managed to shake his head.

"No….I just….feel it, coming," he muttered, staring down at the floor.

Ducky nodded sadly.

"Your body…your subconscious mind, registered the passing of time related to Mike's death, but your conscious mind is already so burdened by loss Jethro…that it blocked the year's passing from your active thoughts."

Gibbs stared once more.

"You make it sound like my freaking mind has a defensive system," he mumbled sarcastically, "it's not an army base in there Duck, much as I might like it to be." The small chuckle that escaped his old friend was oddly soothing and he felt himself relax some. "Believe it or not Jethro, the mind _does_ have such a defensive system. Like when soldiers return home with large parts of their tours missing from their memories, I'm sure you've seen and heard of such events?"

Gibbs nodded mutely.

"That is usually the brains way of protecting its host Jethro," Ducky explained softly, "it is perhaps our most primal way of shielding ourselves from truths we are perhaps not ready to handle."

There was silence for a moment, as the cogs in Gibbs' brain worked as fast as possible under the slightly stilting influence of half a bottle of bourbon. He thought back to the last two weeks, and the drained feeling he had been battling. His easy rise to temper, contrasted with his almost catatonic indifference to what was going on around him. Images of Mike's rain soaked face as he lay dying in the street filled his mind, and he closed his eyes tightly as a massive realisation washed over him, and regret surged through his intestines.

"He'd be ashamed of me," he croaked out, to no-one in particularly. He raised the jar to throw down some more amber liquid, before shaking his head and snapping it down on the stand beside him. Leaning against the hull of his boat, he groaned. Tony's face flashed in his mind, and he physically shook with regret.

"Ashamed of you?" Ducky queried softly, "I don't think Jethro, that that man ever had cause to be anything other than proud of you." Leaning back and raising a tortured looking face to his old friend, Gibbs shook his head firmly. "He…really took to Tony," he muttered, "said he reminded him of a younger me…if he," he broke off and closed his eyes in misery. "If he could see the way I've treated him, he'd be disgusted."

He took in a breath.

"Because I sure as hell am disgusted with myself."

Ducky exhaled quietly. As much as it pained him to hear Gibbs talking in the manner he was, it meant that the penny had finally dropped. Mike Franks may have indeed taken to Tony, but so had the ME and to see the boy so clearly miserable had broken his heart. At the boat, clarity was engulfing the former Marine and his eyes fluttered shut once more.

"Tony didn't tell you a damned thing, did he?"

Ducky shook his head slowly.

"No Jethro, I think you can see now that doing something like that, isn't that lad's style?"

Gibbs jerked his head.

"I should never have doubted it. I'm…one hypocritical son of a bitch. I give him hell for jumping to conclusions….and just _look_ at me."

Before Ducky could respond, Gibbs was talking, uncharacteristically so, and the elder man let him at it.

"I don't know why the hell I did what I did," he muttered, "I just…when he said the things he did, I reacted like a…like a damned teenage girl. I got my panties in a bunch because I thought he didn't trust me, but I didn't even stop to think about what that damn review would look like to him. I didn't even stop to think about how that would have reminded him of his fa…how that would have reminded him of that man."

Gibbs drew in a shuddering breath, regret coming at him from all conceivable angles.

"I was just so… _tired._ I didn't want to deal with it…so I acted like the most selfish damned bastard imaginable. I basically told the kid that…that I couldn't be _bothered_ with him. And then…. _then_ I accused of him of whining to you and Abby about it, and he told me he didn't, and I basically spat in his face and left him there."

Gibbs' body was racking with regret now as Ducky looked on in mounting concern.

"What in the hell have I done?" The former Marine turned an ashen face to his old friend, as the full force of his decisions came raining down on him. "What in the _hell_ have I done, Duck?" The kindly ME, reached out and gripped the man's shoulder and squeezed it tightly. "Nothing you cannot come back from Jethro," he answered softly, "you know that boy would forgive you anything. All you have to do…is ask."

Nodding numbly, Gibbs rooted around in his pocket for his cell causing Ducky to raise a frantic brow. "No no," he chastised, grabbing his hand, "not _now…_ you are a little worse for wear my dear man and frankly I don't think you want young Anthony believing your regret is just the alcohol talking. Wait until tomorrow…sleep now, and right what is wrong with the lad tomorrow. Ok?"

Gibbs nodded slowly, and removed his hand.

"I don't think it's going to be as simple as that, Duck."

The elder man nodded slightly ruefully.

"No Jethro," he agreed quietly, "nor do I. But…I daresay you are prepared to do whatever it takes to get that boy to understand you are nothing like his father?" Gibbs' grimace let Ducky know that his old friend knew _exactly_ how his actions would have transported his second in command back into the grips of an emotionally damaging father. He felt a slight stab of relief that he wouldn't be required to spell it out for the man.

"Sleep now," he instructed quietly, "and tackle tomorrow's issues with a _sober_ frame of mind, yes?" At Gibbs' nod, Ducky smiled gently before gathering himself up and heading towards the stair case. Turning on the bottom step, he looked at the utterly defeated stature of his friend and sadness lapped him. "It'll be alright Jethro," he reassured the man quietly, "but…you must be prepared to be patient. You…must be prepared to be _very_ patient."

The nod he received was as genuine as a bout of poetic speech from a more verbally fluid individual.

When morning dawned for Gibbs, it dawned with a considerable headache and though he found it hard to admit to himself, considerable heartache. He couldn't get Tony out of his head, and…he couldn't get Mike out of it either. He was up even earlier than usual, and in the pre dawn light, fully dressed and caffeinated for the day, he set off.

Walking amongst the silent cemetery that was beginning to be bathed in an orange sunrise was oddly comforting. Leaning down at his destination, he placed the favourite tipple of the man against his headstone and stared silently for a moment. Resting his hand on the smooth granite, he sighed heavily. "Really screwed the pooch with the kid this time boss," he muttered softly, "you'd have head-slapped me senseless if you were here."

He stood for a moment more, a slight constricting quality spreading through his throat.

"Really wish you _were_ here, boss."

Arriving at the Navy Yard about half an hour later, Gibbs stalled in his car for a moment. He didn't expect any of his team to be in yet, and for the fact he was grateful. He wasn't sure how he was going to even approach the kid, and that scared him. He had a naturalness with Tony that rendered him completely inhibition less when it came to his speech patterns. Now though…he didn't know if there were words in his vocab that could get through to the boy.

Because if that had been him, and Mike had done just what he had done, he knew how he'd be feeling.

And words were a piss poor band aid.

Scowling at himself, he jumped out of his car and made his way through security into the building. Grabbing a coffee on the way, he walked slowly to the darkened bull pen, his mind whirring with various ways to approach the boy and ways to rescind his desk duty. Setting his coffee down on his desk and shrugging out of his suit jacket, he flicked on the desk lamp and threw himself down into his chair. As he turned to grab his coffee, his eyes fell for the first time upon the envelope propped up on the keyboard of his computer, neatly labelled "Agent Gibbs."

His heart stilled.

That was Tony's writing.

Ripping the envelope open with reluctant hands, Gibbs' eyes flew across the typed letter at a speed so fast his stomach churned. Re-reading it for the eighth time, the team-lead shook his head, refusing to accept what he saw before him, and standing he directed his desk lamps glow on his second's desk. The sight made his intestines contract and the letter that he held in his hand tremble. Reading the short, polite, and to the point letter once more, and glancing at the desk one more time, Gibbs felt his heart land somewhere on the floor.

His groan could be heard all over the deserted office as he stood rooted to the spot.

 _"God damnit."_

…..

TBC

….

A/N: That turned out longer than I expected! Tony and Gibbs will be all healed up soon, I promise! For those following my other stories, I have a batch update nearly ready, with hopefully a large-scale update on Wednesday. I had this one finished so decided to post it on its own. Hope you guys enjoyed!

-Inks


	18. Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word

He had a key, but he knew better than to use it in the current situation. So he settled, disagreeably, for knocking. And knocking, and _knocking._ His heart was in his mouth as he stood on the wrong side of the familiar door. He knew Tony was in there. He also knew that the kid was probably right on the other side of the door, debating, doing that lip chewing thing he did when struggling with a decision. It was noon, and he knew the neighbours mightn't appreciate his consistent hammering, but he found he didn't really care much.

He had called and called Tony's cell.

No answer.

So now he knocked and knocked, a leaden feeling in his chest. If this door didn't open, he didn't really know what he was going to do. He could feel the weight of the key growing heavier in his pocket with an almost phantom growth, but he knew he couldn't use it. That right now, it was a useless artefact that was merely a physical representation of the trust he had broken.

He cursed himself for the hundredth time.

Just as he was about to knock once more, his knuckles beginning to whine in protest, the door slowly inched open. A sweat pants, t-shirt clad and very tousled looking Tony stood in the doorway with a raised brow. After a sticky silence, he cleared his throat slightly and Gibbs instantly knew the kid had very little sleep. "You alright Gibbs?"

There it was.

The setting of the tone of the impending conversation. Not boss, but Gibbs. Not Tony, but DiNozzo. The older man blinked as he digested the well deserved dig and drew in a breath. Nodding over the young man's shoulder, he raised a questioning brow. "Mind if I come in?" he asked softly, in that moment having no idea what the answer would be. His second…well, apparently his _former_ second eyed him for a moment and Gibbs strove to deduce what was brimming in those eyes.

Nothing.

There was _nothing_ there.

They were closed off. A deadened, lifeless quality replacing their usual mischievous twinkle. Gibbs felt his gut contract in upon itself. _He_ had done that. _He_ had ripped the bouncing glow from Tony's eyes and stuffed them full with an unfeeling indifference. _He_ was responsible. His inner confessional was interrupted as the appraising came to an abrupt stop, and Tony removed his hold on the door and walked back into his apartment.

Not quite a hearty invitation, but not a slammed door in the face either.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, Gibbs walked forward slowly. He watched as Tony picked up a cup from the coffee table and threw himself back down on the sofa. Curling himself up in a ball, he clutched the cup a lot tighter than was necessary and kept his gaze trained on the daytime TV that was blaring from his flatscreen. Hesitating for a moment, Gibbs perched on the familiar armchair across from the sofa based Tony and chewed his lip.

The silence was oppressive, barely being dented by the twittering of the now infomercials.

"Tony…" Gibbs began uncertainly, an unusual state for him, "I wanted to talk to you about…" he rummaged around in his pocket and drew out the now crumpled resignation, "this." At this, Tony looked up from his apparent fascination with blenders and tilted his head slightly.

"If you're angry that I'm using my unused leave and day's owing as notice, you'll have to speak to Vance," the kid muttered politely, "I'm pretty sure it's a common substitute." With that, he snapped his head back to the blender specification segment, leaving Gibbs wondering how in the hell he was going to deal with his current situation. With Ducky's admonishments as he read Tony's resignation a few hours earlier ringing in his ears, demanding that he must be entirely forthcoming, Gibbs sucked in some more air.

"I'm sorry, Tony," he said clearly, loudly and in a ringing voice of sincerity, "I'm…sorry as all hell."

The blenders received another break in transmission.

Turning slowly to face the older man, Tony raised a brow. "Sorry for what?" he responded impassively, not even registering in the same way that he usually would that a cardinal rule was being broken, "what do you mean?"

Gibbs stared.

Before recovering, and waving the resignation slightly in the air. "This," he murmured, getting straight to the point "the fact that you thought you had no choice but to write this. Tony…" he faltered for a moment, before pressing on, "I screwed up. I made a stupid mistake in how I handled that damned review mess, and I'm… sorry."

It was Tony's turn to stare.

"Look, Gibbs," he muttered eventually, "I'm not really in the mood for this. I screwed up, and I don't think you trust me anymore. And I therefore just can't work with you….I can't work with someone who doesn't trust me…I'm sorry, but my resignation stands. We…had a good run, but…I think we both know that this was probably coming."

He let his stare flutter to the ground, where Gibbs felt his heart land.

"What do you mean?" he asked softly, "what do you mean we both knew this was probably coming?" He felt his stomach clench as a coldness spread across the kid's face for the first time in their impromptu meeting. "Don't pretend," Tony bit out harshly, "you've been waiting for this, haven't you? A legitimate reason to kick me to the curb?"

Before Gibbs could even respond, a dam seemed to be threatening its banks as Tony scowled.

"I know I shouldn't have done what I did, and reacted the way I did…" he blurted out, and the regret in his voice was painful, "but…I just thought," he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, before shaking his head in evident self loathing. "I don't know what I thought," he said with a hollow laugh that made the hairs on Gibbs' neck stand, "I just didn't think what happened….would happen. _Could_ happen…but you can't…I was stupid…you never let anyone…."

He was talking to himself now and Gibbs was growing more and more alarmed.

Tony's lips were twisting into a self depreciating smile that was so intense, the elder man felt his heartbeat quicken even further. "I guess I should know better by now, is what I'm saying," the young agent added slowly, doggedly, "I guess…I really do only have myself to blame." With that, his attention was suddenly blender focused once more, with only a muttered "you better get back to the office Gibbs, you don't want to be wasting your time here," given as a parting farewell.

The agent didn't move a muscle.

"I'm not going anywhere."

For the first time, anger made itself known on the handsome face in front of him as it twisted up in irritation. "What do you _want_ from me Gibbs?" Tony hissed, "I said I'm sorry, alright? But you don't have to worry about me touching your precious filing cabinet anymore, you don't have to worry about me rolling in late and hung-over." He jerked his head in the direction of the resignation still clasped in the man's hand, "consider it my birthday present to you."

Gibbs shook his head slowly.

"I'm not accepting this," he returned clearly, "you're not resigning as far as I'm concerned. We are going to sort this out, and you are you going to get your ass back to your desk by tomorrow morning."

The proclamation hung in the air like wildfire.

Until Tony's contemptuous snort snuffed it right out.

"We can't work together anymore Gibbs," he contradicted with an almost clinical coolness, his fingers grasping his mug tighter still, "you've made it clear that…that I'm just a…subordinate to you…and maybe that should be enough," his face flushed and Gibbs' heart broke, "but it's not…so just go, would you? Just get out."

The dull red that splashed across his cheeks intensified as he stared down at his mug.

Gibbs knew that now was the time to come clean, to admit to struggling with…feelings, and apologise for displacing those damned chemical imbalances upon his longest serving agent. He suddenly wished he'd paid more attention in English class. His loss of words in the current moment was a severe restriction on what he wanted, what he _needed_ to achieve.

He steadied himself with a breath.

"Tony…what happened, how I dealt with that damned review deal…that didn't really have anything to do with _you."_

There, that wasn't too bad a start.

For a functional mute anyway.

Where was author McGee when you needed him.

Tony stared disbelievingly.

"Come again?"

Gibbs nodded and scrubbed a hand across his face, feeling it grow hot under his touch. "I…I've been a bit…uhh, _sensitive_ I guess, these last two weeks or so…and I took it out on you, in a way I should never have done. I was just…tired, Tony. It's no excuse, I'm not trying to excuse it…because I can't. But…the way I reacted, had nothing to do with _you_ and everything to do with _me._ I tell you honestly, that if McGee, Abbs or Ziva had pulled the same stunt you did…my reaction would have been _exactly_ the same, because…it wasn't about the filing cabinet, or the review or the lateness and attitude. It wasn't about you because it was all about… _me."_

Tony continued to stare, but felt his bottom jaw depart from his top.

"I don't understand a word you're saying."

At this, Gibbs let out a small, strangled sort of chuckle that had Tony's eyes widening.

"That makes the two of us then."

Tony's eyes widened further and Gibbs knew he had to be more detailed in his admissions.

"I didn't realise it," he confessed quietly, "not consciously anyway, until Ducky slapped me with it…but, its uhh….been a year since…" He broke off, the redness in his face growing and as he sucked in another soothing breath. "Since Mike," he concluded quietly, "it's been a year since Mike…passed, and I guess…I didn't deal with it too well."

Before Tony could interject he continued.

"I didn't _realise_ it was a year…but I, for the last two weeks or so…have been uhh….a bit," the heat in his face was now enough to fry an egg, "a bit… _upset,_ I suppose. I just remember feeling so tired all the time, and not knowing why. And so…when the whole review thing happened, Tony, I swear to you…I just didn't have the _energy._ I really didn't. I couldn't deal with it the way I should have, and the way I _would_ have…had things been less…uhh, _anniversary-like."_

Tony felt air tickle his tonsils such was the degree of his agape state.

His mind keened. They, he Abbs, Ziva and McGee _had_ noticed that Gibbs seemed…off, the last week or so. That he didn't have the same demanding energy, that he didn't drive himself or them as hard as usual. They had talked about it, in hushed tones, down in the sanctuary of Abby's lab. They had discussed trying to get him to take some time off, before quickly realising that was a suicide mission. They had expressed their concerns that he had bags under his eyes, that his temper was even quicker to rise than usual. That he had been snappy with _Abby_ on more than one occasion.

That…he was _different._

Suddenly it all made blaring, glaring sense and Tony physically recoiled from the realisation. He couldn't believe it was an entire year since Franks had died. He had really liked the man. Had looked up to him in the same way he looked up to Gibbs. Like he was an older Gibbs. He suddenly imagined how it would feel, having _Gibbs'_ anniversary creep up on him like that, not being able to realise it, and feeling the physical effects of it without being able to determine the cause.

And suddenly, he was hit with a burst of relief.

That was quickly tempered by an onslaught of raw guilt.

Relief, that his belief in Gibbs' explanation came easy. The relief that came from knowing that the…situation he had found himself in, was not actually anything to do with _him._ He could relate to that. He could relate to acting in a certain way towards someone he cared about, without meaning to. Without having any control over it. Like he had been after Jeanne. How cold he had felt, no matter what the others did to try and rouse him from him stupor. How it had taken time, how it taken persistence and patience…and how he had eventually come out of it.

The relief was blossoming and blooming.

But so was the guilt.

The guilt that he could see inside the rarest of all rare glimpses into the psyche of one LJ Gibbs and take solace from the man's misery. Take the bits that made him feel better and drench himself in their presence. Guilt that he had inadvertently exacerbated an already miserable time in the older man's life, guilt that he had built upon that exacerbation like a tottering pile of bricks.

One hit after another after another. Guilt as he recalled the accusations he had hurtled at the man in the conference room, guilt at the almost savage pleasure he took in getting blind drunk. The most burning guilt was still smouldering at the back of his brain. That damned filing cabinet. Sighing, he looked across at the clearly very embarrassed Gibbs, and found he didn't have the freaking heart to continue his own campaign of hurt.

Because there wasn't enough _left_ to run such a campaign.

The hurt and the betrayal that had consumed him seemed to be leaking from his very pores as he sat silently, in the wake of a rare Gibbs admission. His gut instinct knew what he was being told was a very difficult truth, and that the unwavering belief that the man cared for him like a son ought not to have been eroded. He quickly cast his mind back to all the times Gibbs had gone out on a limb for him and felt the how shower of shame cascade above him once more.

He should have _known._

Gibbs' behaviour…was so _un_ Gibbs-ish, that it should have set alarm bells ringing galore. But, it didn't. Because he was too wrapped up in his own sense of hurt to even countenance the idea that there _must_ be a trigger for the man's behaviour. Clearing his throat slightly, he ran a hand across his face. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't even realise it was a year. I'm…sorry." He looked up, and the anguish in the green eyes was palpable to a still flushed Gibbs. He watched as Tony took a deep breath and set his coffee cup down.

"I'm sorry I made it worse for you boss."

…and there it was.

Boss.

Gibbs felt a ridiculous surge of joy. That one word…it spoke volumes. It was at that point he knew they could come back from this. That he could make Tony see that he was as important as he ever was to him, he was important as the other three. That he, was an old fool who'd made a mistake, and refused to let that mistake ruin everything.

And he knew all that, from that one word.

Boss.

"You didn't know, Tony," he replied quietly, "hell _I_ didn't even know…not really. Thank god for Ducky huh?" The younger man snorted sagely and raised a brow. "He give you a hard time?" Gibbs felt his lips curve into a smile, and pinch at the gesture. He hadn't smiled…in a while. "He let me know what's what," he said, "like he always does. And while we're on the subject, I also owe you an apology for accusing you of bitching to him and Abbs. I knew better, and behaved like a moron anyway. I'm sorry Tony, I was a complete and utter ass."

Tony nodded his acceptance, with a ghost of his usual grin.

"So, what now?" he added uncertainly, "I…what do we do now?"

Chewing his lip, Gibbs tilted his head to the side and held up the resignation once more. "Well, for starters…I'd appreciate it if you could tear this up? Like I say, I don't accept it…but, I can't force you to stay…so," he held out the paper to Tony who took in an uncertain hand, "I guess what's next is up to you."

Tony didn't move for a moment, holding the crumpled up sheet delicately.

Before in one careful movement, tearing it in half.

Gibbs almost felt his stress undergo a similar halving as he breathed in relief. "What about Vance though?" the younger man muttered, feeling a ridiculous warmth in his stomach at the look of staggering relief on his _still_ boss' face. "I left a copy of this on his desk?" He watched in increased relief as Gibbs waved a confident hand. "Don't worry about him," he reassured quietly, "he won't remember any such resignation."

Tony breathed easier still.

The world was slowly mounting itself back onto its appropriate axis.

"So…can I expect to see your ass in work tomorrow?" Gibbs asked, his eyes returning to a half powered version of their usual blue pools. He watched as Tony nodded his head slightly sheepishly, before his shoulders dropped slightly. "What is it?" the elder agent asked, his voice ringing with well intentioned curiosity. Shrugging slightly, Tony flushed. "Nothing…I mean, I know I deserve it and everything but…desk duty, it's just…a killer."

Gibbs blinked.

He hadn't even _thought_ of that.

"You're not on desk duty anymore," he muttered gruffly, "I need you out there with me. I'll sort it with HR…I have a _bone_ to pick with that witch of a woman in there anyway." Tony didn't need to know that he meant Mary, and he didn't need to be told that Gibbs somehow knew of the vitriolic gossip she had been spreading. His warm glow rose in temperature.

Gibbs needed him.

With him.

The glow was ridiculously warm now, washing away all the coldness he had felt with its gentle rays.

"Thanks boss," he muttered slowly, being answered with an embarrassed little nod. He basked in the warmth for a moment, before the sun was blocked by a tidal wave of guilt. "What…what about my uhh…punishment then?" he asked, his face heating up once more. The confused look Gibbs sent him didn't help matter.

"Your punishment?"

Visions of filing cabinets and reviews swum in Tony's mind as he nodded jerkily. "Uhh…yeah, I…well, I know how you are about your cabinet and I spoke to you pretty uhm…unprofessionally…." Gibbs blinked. He hadn't even thought about it. True he was taking Tony off of the despised desk duty, but that didn't mean he was ready or willing to replace it with any other punishment. If he was honest with himself, he thought the kid had been through enough.

Because of him.

"I think…" he answered slowly, "that the degree to which I've been an ass is more than enough punishment, no?"

Tony chewed his lip as the guilt coursed through him.

He didn't feel one bit absolved, the way he usually did after a less than pleasant conversation with his boss. He didn't feel that _cleanliness_ that blanketed him after having his hide tanned. He was still burdened with the sickening guilt attaching to the way he'd thrown Gibbs' sacrifice of years past in his face, made an already tough time in the man's life ever harder.

He practically felt sick with regret, and it must have shown.

"You still feel guilty?"

It was phrased as a question, but intended as a summation. Nonetheless, Tony turned heavy eyes up to his boss and nodded jerkily before laughing somewhat. "It's insane…" he mumbled, "insane…." Gibbs' brows raised of their own accord. "What's insane son?" he asked gently. Shaking his head slightly and chewing his lip some more, Tony sighed.

"Half an hour ago…I thought we were just done. And now…it's business as usual."

At that, even Gibbs had to chuckle and nod his head, basking in relief and acknowledging how lucky he was. "Yeah," he agreed, "I guess you're just a lot more forgiving than any of my ex wives were." At that, Tony snorted in laughter and whatever residual tension was leftover from the last few days soared out the window. "I guess I am," he agreed jokingly, before sobering some. "Are you…ok?" he asked uncertainly, "about Mike, I mean."

Gibbs sighed sadly but nodded.

"Yeah son…I'm ok. I went to his grave this morning….and, that was good."

Knowing that this degree of openness, however short to the outsider, was a momentous effort for Gibbs, Tony nodded quickly. "Good," he said quietly, "if you ever uhh…need, uhm…." The older man smiled his crooked smile and also nodded. "I know," he finished for the younger man, "thanks."

There was silence for a moment, each man lost to their own thoughts before Tony repeated himself quietly.

"Are you gonna….uhh, are you going to…."

Gibbs flinched.

The idea…the very idea of dealing with Tony _now_ as he should have done _days_ ago was abhorrent to him. He felt like he had already hurt him so much, garnered such forgiveness he wasn't sure he deserved, so that to cause the boy physical pain on top of it was just too much. But…he also _knew_ Tony. Knew that he had strong sense of right and wrong, of action and reaction. He knew that a piss poor alternative like desk duty wouldn't and clearly hadn't done diddly squat to alleviate the guilt the could still see in the kid's eyes.

And he knew he didn't have much of a choice.

But he didn't want to.

He never wanted to.

But right now…he _really didn't want to._ He just wanted to cut the rest of the day, drink beer and eat fire roasted steak with the kid. Sucking in some air, he assessed the eyes that stared tentatively at him. They were dark with guilt. As much as he knew Tony wouldn't admit it, he _needed_ him to take charge of the situation now…and do what he should have done before. In a bizarre way, he knew to Tony's mind, it would not only rid him of his guilt but serve as a solidification that the whole sorry mess of the last few days were behind them.

And so he nodded.

And slipped, with as much reluctant as he'd ever felt, into full on boss-mode.

Standing up, he crossed the room and sat down beside Tony so that their knees were touching. Taking in a deep breath, he forced himself to do what he didn't want to. "You know better than to go near my filing cabinet," he began with as much sternness as he could muster, "you know better than to go rooting through files I don't give you. You know better than to fail to verify what you hear or read. You know better than to deliberately go out of contact, on a bender and show up to work hours late with a piss poor attitude. You also know better than to scream and shout at me. Am I right?"

Tony nodded numbly.

"If you have a problem with me, then you come to me. You talk to me. You do _not_ deliberately get blitzed and then come into the agency and hurl abuse at me. Do I make myself clear?" Tony flinched beside him, tearing into Gibbs heart, but managed a quiet "yes boss." Knowing that any further lecturing was unnecessary and unkind, Gibbs steeled himself.

Before faltering.

"We don't need to do this, Tony," he mumbled, "we've both made mistakes here, I'm fully prepared to just let this go, if you are?" The kid looked up at him with the same tortured eyes and shook his head. "I don't feel…" he sputtered quietly, "I don't _feel…._ " Gibbs reached out and gently squeezed his knee. "You don't feel it's been dealt with?" he supplied knowingly, being acutely aware of Tony's mindset.

The answering nod was instantaneous and Gibbs knew he had no choice.

"Let's get this done then, ok?"

The answering nod was once again instantaneous, and Gibbs once again knew he had no choice.

Reaching out, he quickly but gently scooted back on the spacious sofa and pulled Tony down across his knee. It was an absolute testament to the situation that the kid didn't baulk and screech about being pulled over the older man's knee, a position Gibbs knew the agent hated. But…it took as much as it could possibly take for him to put him that position, placing him over the sofa to unbuckle his belt was just something he couldn't do in that instance.

He just couldn't.

And perhaps Tony knew that, and perhaps that's why he didn't protest. Knowing that he needed to get the point across as quickly but as effectively as possible, Gibbs quickly tugged down the sweat and underpants to Tony's knees and wrapped a well practiced arm around his waist. Hesitating for a moment, he forced himself to pull it together and raise his equally well practiced hand high.

The first swat seemed to echo in the living room, and it occurred to Gibbs that he had never spanked Tony in his place before. Blinking, he forced himself back to the present and landed the second swat quickly, before settling into a reliable rhythm. The pale skin quickly pinked up under his large hand and Gibbs knew that this wasn't going to be a long spanking. He almost sagged with the relief from that fact. Tony had no doubts about why he was where he was and the pool of guilt would burst from him with very little provocation upon his butt.

Gibbs just knew it.

And he was right.

The first round of hard swats to the tender sit spots instantly brought about a whimpering that normally wouldn't be seen at this stage in the punishment. Nor would the squirming. Holding on tighter to his second, Gibbs continued to paint the bare backside red, hating himself all the while. Usually there would be a spoon or a brush introduced to this equation, but given everything, he just didn't have the heart.

And Tony didn't need it.

As Gibbs landed another particularly hard swat down, the dam broke and a very quiet crying could be heard as it wafted upwards. There would be no loud sobbing, Gibbs knew that. That was reserved for much longer and much more straight forward punishments. This one….was more personal, more complex, and it didn't require much longevity. And with that thought in mind, Gibbs quickly landed the last searing round of stinging swats to Tony's sit spots and instantly felt the kid's torso deflate, and the shoulders sag.

The physical removal of the emotional burden.

The spanking instantly stopped, and Gibbs' hand as per his custom flew to the small of Tony's back, rubbing reassuring circles upon it and speaking in assuredly hushed tones. The crying continued for a few minutes, quiet and soft, before completely fizzling out. Sensing Tony was about to heave himself up, Gibbs quickly gave his back one last pat before pulling his clothing into a righted position and rising with him.

Before Tony could say anything as he stood, his tear streaked face was buried into Gibbs' shoulder as the man pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Instantly melting into the embrace and breathing in the familiar woody smell, Tony felt, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime…at peace. Everything was righted, everything was back to normal.

Everything was _ok._

"M'sorry boss, won't do it again."

Feeling these words muttered into the now crook of his neck, Gibbs smiled and rubbed a hand through Tony's hair. "I know son," he muttered, "and I'm sorry to." He chuckled as he released the boy from his grasp. "I won't do it again either," he added, with a ringing hint of promise that Tony instantly digested, believed and answered with a watery smile.

Looking around the room, Gibbs snapped to a decision.

Fishing his keys out his pocket, he jerked his head towards the door. "C'mon," he instructed gently, "there's beers, steak and a game at my place. Got our names on it. You may as well stay for a few days if you want, I've got a woodworking project for you to work on."

Tony nodded and grinned at the idea of hanging at Gibbs' before sobering.

Holding open the door and ushering a sneaker grabbing Tony through it, the older man raised a brow at the suddenly horrified expression crossing the kid's face.

"What?" he asked curiously, reaching around the boy and closing his apartment door securely.

Tony swallowed.

"It's not a paddle, is it?"

Gibbs burst out into laughter, causing Tony to huff dramatically as they waited for the lift.

"No," he chuckled, "it's not, besides I already have a paddle, remember?"

All of a sudden an intensely guilty look crossed over the kid's face and Gibbs' radar screeched into action.

He groaned.

" _Tony….."_

The younger man laughed nervously, before turning beseeching eyes upwards. "Maybe you've got termites, boss?" Rolling his eyes as the elevator arrived and pinged open, Gibbs gently propelled Tony into it.

"Or maybe I've got an absolute terror for a second in command?"

Tony grinned proudly.

"Maybe so boss, maybe so."

…

TBC

…

Thoughts?

A/N: Apologies. I know I said I'd have a batch update (which is up now) last week sometime, but life's been super busy! I hope this chapter isn't a let down and updated should return to a more regular schedule from now on. Also a massive thanks to those who left reviews/pm's asking if I'm ok. I'm totally ok! Just annoyingly busy recently. Next story line is probably going to focus on the girls more!

A/N2: Just a sidenote, when I write these…I always imagine the characters in their younger bodies. Like a season one and two Tony , Tim and Abby, and a season ¾ Ziva. I imagine Gibbs as he's always been. Just obviously Michael Weatherly now, compared to Michael/Tony then, is physically different, still beautiful though!

A/N3: I've just finished writing this on the plane home as it was a painfully boring two hour flight, but I haven't had time to proof, otherwise I wouldn't get to update it. So I'll fix any errors later, I'm sure there are some there, bear with me!

-Inks.


	19. Wedding Woes

The tension was mounting, threatening to burst its banks and spew its stench all over the two occupants of its irritation. "Abby," Gibbs ground out "I've already said it ten times. So listen to me now, because I'm not going to repeat myself again. You left it too late to ask me, we're under departmental review and we have no forensics back up. So the answer is _no._ I know that's not what you want to hear, but you need to just suck it up and you need to watch your attitude and tone while you're at it. Understand?"

There was a mutinous silence in the lab as a highly irate tech stared back at an equally irate agent.

"You let the boy's have whatever time they want off," she eventually seethed, "and plus Ziva's on vacation, and I'm not allowed to have _one_ day?"

Gibbs shook his head, torn between exasperation and real annoyance.

"I do not let the boy's have whatever time they want off," he contradicted sternly, "and for the record, Ziva is _not_ on vacation, she's at a liaison convention that's mandated by Vance, as you very well know." He sighed loudly. "Don't make me get cross with you Abbs, ok? I'm honestly too busy for this."

She merely glared at him, and spun on her heel to offer him her back in pointed discontent. Gritting his teeth and being less willing to weather the dramatics of his favourite than usual, Gibbs cleared his throat. "Turn around and look at me this instant," he scolded quietly, "when we're finished with a discussion, I will let you know. You, on the other hand, do _not_ get to turn your back on me."

She felt her brows knit together as she stared down at the sterile counter she stood at. The sensible part of her was screaming to turn her ass around that she was acting like a spoiled brat. The irritated part of her screamed that she put in double her contracted hours on a weekly basis, and all she wanted was _one_ day off, when they didn't even have a case. The war raged for a couple of seconds, before she unwisely allowed _irritated_ to beat, clobber and strangle _sensible_ into submission, and remained with her rigid back to a now seriously pissed off Gibbs.

"I'm giving you to the count of three to turn around and show me a basic level of respect," he warned quietly, and his tone brooked no argument. She chewed her lip, a mixture of anger and regret coursing through her. She knew she should turn around and back down. But…she couldn't. She was pissed as well, and just because he was the boss didn't mean that she wasn't _allowed_ to have a legitimate grievance.

"One…"

She chewed her lip harder, a bizarre sense of obstinate determination rising in her. She needed that day off. It was only a poxy twenty four hours. She wasn't asking for the frigging moon on a string. She promised her friend she would be a bridesmaid for her three day in the organising, wedding. She had known her intended for three weeks, but the timing was right and the love was strong. The romantic in Abby had swooned at the news, and had delightedly accepted the position of honour. And now… _now_ Gibbs was ruining it all.

"Two…."

This was ridiculous. It was absolutely, ridiculous. He was under enough stress as it was, with Vance giving him endless earache about budget submissions and staffing levels. He just didn't _need_ this as well. And she should damn sure know it. He loved Abbs, everyone knew that, but right then…he could have cheerfully strangled her for her petulance. Not that he ever _would_ of course, but even those big eyes of hers wouldn't do her any good if she didn't back down in the next second and come to her damned senses.

"Three…"

This was her last chance, and she knew it. Her feet were splayed in the direction of movement, but her core and torso remained rigid. She was now physically battling with herself, torn between self preservation and self righteousness. Her one, solitary second of decision making time slipped past her and still she remained steadfastly put, the gleaming metal surface twinkling up at her, almost seeming to egg her on. She heard his short, angry breath as he exhaled sharply and muttered under his breath and she knew she'd made a mistake.

A big mistake.

"Right, that's it," Gibbs declared softly, "turn around this second, and we'll deal with this right here and right now. Don't, and I'm bringing you home with me after work and you will regret ever pulling this kind of cheek." He sucked in a breath. "Your call Abby, it's entirely up to you." He snapped his mouth shut once more and waited with a very minimal patience for his lab rat to come to _some_ semblance of her usual senses.

Abby groaned internally. She knew that voice, they all did. It was the _"you've pushed me far enough and I'm done with it now,"_ voice. She immediately cursed her own stupidity, and for a moment she briefly considered compounding it by not turning around. By pushing off her sentence for another few hours. But she quickly decided against it. When Gibbs told you he was going to make you regret something, you tended to _really_ regret it. Finally, sensibleness won out over irritation and she turned to face him slowly, and with a gulp.

"M'sorry," she whispered softly, squirming under his intense gaze, her face full of sorrow.

She didn't possess the foolishness to protest as he gently grasped her upper arm in his hand, and guided her to her inner office. The one with sound proofing and no cameras should the occupants so desire. He made a gesture at the array of buttons and the like and his instructions were clear. Gulping, Abby pressed the combination that allowed the glass to stain over and allowed whatever noise was to be made in the small room, _stay_ in the small room. Turning around once more, she put her puppy eyes to their fullest use. "Gibbs…I'm _sorry,"_ she mumbled, "I don't know what I was thinking-"

"You were _thinking,"_ the team lead interrupted sternly, "that if you just continued to throw a fit, I would let you have what you wanted. News flash Abbs, it doesn't work like that. You do not turn your back to me, and you do _not_ continue to have your back to me when I ask you to turn around. I love you, and you know it. But I am _still_ your boss, and you would do well to remember that at times. You understand?"

She nodded silently, her eyes beginning to brim with the tears he so hated to see.

Sighing, he crooked his finger at her. "Come here Abby," he instructed quietly, and felt an impossible sadness as she shuffled slowly towards him, her dark curtain of hair swinging morosely in her wake. As she reached him, he bit the bullet and wasted no time. Reaching out to her and lifting his foot to rest on the metal under bar of a nearby workbench, he quickly bent her over his impromptu raised knee, tucking her under his arm securely.

Deciding against flipping up her skirt, hoping he could make this a quick but sharp lesson, he dropped the first swat without delay. It was hard, and he knew it but she had brought it on herself. As he firmly covered her backside in equally firm swats, her surprised yelps and whimpering punched him right in the heart. Applying one more coat of brisk smacks over her clothed rear, he landed the last two against each of her sit spots hard, drawing a wounded yelp, before setting her back on her feet.

She wasn't crying as she reached back to furiously rub at the sting in her backside, but the tears that had sprung to her eyes as he scolded her remained. He reached out and placed a warm hand on her shoulder, and used the other one to gently tilt her head upwards. "Don't make me do this again Abbs," he said softly, "because if you and I have to have _another_ discussion about your attitude or this day off business once more, I am going to be seriously annoyed. Ok?"

Her nodding was instantaneous and heartfelt, and he instantly melted.

Opening his arms wide, he arched a brow. Before he could utter a word, she had thrown herself so fiercely into them he was knocked backwards a step, taking care to make sure she didn't fall with him. Regaining his balance, he held her close to him and breathed sadly into her hair. "I hate doing that Abby," he whispered into the dark locks, "so please stop making me have to do it kid, ok?" His nose was instantly assailed by tickles as she nodded fervently against his face and he sighed once more, but a rather more contented sigh this time.

Releasing his charge after a moment, he smiled down at her. "You want some of your Caf-Pow now?" As she was ushered from the room, Abby shook her head slowly. "You didn't bring one with you today," she stated sadly, though she could hardly push the argument that she deserved one. Rolling his eyes and steering her to her usual spot in the lab, Gibbs reached around her and retrieved the forgotten about and now dripping steadily, caffeine kick.

"I did," he countered with a small grin, "you were just too busy with your tantrum to notice."

She flushed an impossible red and accepted the extended drink sheepishly. "I do have _some_ Italian heritage," she defended with that toothy grin he loved. Snorting, he shook his head and ruffled her hair before realising he had that bone headed accountant that he had to meet in five minutes. More of Vance's ingenious "cost saving measures." Planting a kiss on the top of her head, he signed to her and chuckled at her answer, before sweeping from the lab, confident that all issues of attitude's and day off request's had been firmly dealt with.

As he ascended, Abby remained firmly at basement level and eyed her stool suspiciously. Her spanking had been mercifully brief, but it had been firm. Deciding against risking it, she stood at her computer and got slowly back to work. So absorbed was she half an hour later, that it took the phone on her desk shrilling for the fifth time to actually garner her attention. Seeing the caller ID, she groaned.

It was Megan.

Megan being the very friend she had promised to bridesmaid for, and having to be the one to renege on such a promise meant that a call from her pal at the current moment wasn't all that thrilling. With a deadening feeling spreading throughout her, she realised she owed Megan the courtesy of telling her straight out that she wouldn't be able to attend her wedding. With a heavy heart she answered the call and took a deep breath.

Before her eyes flew open.

"What?" she spluttered into the cell, sending spray remnants of Caf-Pow everywhere and anywhere around the usually immaculate lab. Her pigtails swung furiously as she digested the information coming from the other end of the line, her eyes widening with every syllable processed. "But…but you've only known him three weeks Meg, and you're moving up your already very quick wedding to _tomorrow?_ As in, it's not three days from now anymore….it's _tomorrow?"_

She sighed.

"No, I think it's great, you know I think it's great that you and Sebastian have hit it off…but, wait…what?"

Her eyes grew wider.

"Your parents won't _come?_ What do you mean they won't _come?"_

She gasped as more tearful information flooded her mind. The parents weren't coming, the other three bridesmaids couldn't make a moved up wedding. But the wedding _had_ to be moved up because Sebastian's work needed him back within the week. She had no-one, there were more tears, talks of complete and utter meltdown's, dress malfunctions and to top it all off, a caterer that apparently didn't understand the term "vegan."

By the end of the tearful tale of woe, Abby had her hand to her mouth.

"You'll still be there for me though, right Abby? You'll be at my place for tomorrow at about nine, right?"

Tomorrow…being the forensics departments turn to come under scrutiny from the bean counters. Tomorrow being _her_ turn to prove her worth to this irritating suit. Tomorrow being the day she had promised Gibbs she would do her best to sell the department's complete and utter necessity during her one hour meeting with the accountant guy.

"You still there, Abby?"

There was a gulping as the tears began anew on the other line.

"You're…going to be there tomorrow, right?"

Looking down at the workbench and working a horrified hand through her hair, Abby got sight of the framed picture of her and Gibbs. His arm tossed lightly around her shoulders, smiling proudly at her as she landed her first fish. She felt her throat constrict as yet again she was doing battle with herself. Her breathing was tough going and it wasn't helped by the now very morose, very timid, "Abby…please tell me you're not bailing out on me. Please tell me you're going to be there?"

The scientist swallowed with considerable difficulty.

Her voice as she answered, even to her, sounded weak and shaky.

"I'll be there."

…

TBC

…

A/N: (From "The Best Medicine") I know my updates aren't as frequent as usual, and it's for two reasons. One, I'm just insanely busy recently between life and upcoming exams and the whole nine yards. Two, I feel the quality of my writing is a little bit iffy at the moment, and I'd rather post nothing at all than post drivel. Having said that, either _"Introductions to the Introspective or Pater, et Filius,"_ is next up for an update I think, and the rest will follow. Sacrificial Intelligence is at a bit of a standstill, but I will finish it. So, a massive thank you to those who've reviewed and pm'd about the more infrequent updates, I'm doing my best to get back to my usual swing but for both reasons it's just a bit all over the place atm.

-Inks.


	20. Present and Pretend

Barely keeping her eyes open as she stumbled from the busy airport departure gate, Ziva sighed as her cell pinged. She had somewhat enjoyed the off-the-grid nature her eight hour flight had provided. Sweeping through the last passport clearance, she answered on the tenth ring. She would have ignored the call altogether but for the caller id. It was Abby. And if there was one thing Ziva had learned from her stint in the US, it was to never, ever ignore the calls of Abigail Sciuto.

Especially the late night calls.

She barely had time to get a wearied "Hello, Abby.." out of her mouth when the frantic speech began billowing down her eardrum. She felt her brows rise and fall like the tides as she struggled to keep up, and struggled to heave her suitcase across the crowded car lot without being squished. "Uh huh," she mumbled, dancing out of the way of an irate cabbie, "a wedding? How lovely…" a horn blared as she glared at the driver who could care less about her ability to continue walking, "oh…why so?"

Finally reaching her car, she silently thanked her stars and slid into the cold driver's seat. Throwing her suitcase into the back, she started the car but didn't move it as she continued to listen. "Oh…" she sighed, "I'm sorry that Gibbs will not let you, but I am sure…oh…really, her…own _parents?"_ She slid her hands over the wheel wondering absentmindedly what on god's green earth any of this had to do with her, but knowing better than to interrupt the flow. She longed for a hot shower, as early a night as her late arrival provided for, and deep sleep.

On the other end of the line, pacing around her apartment, Abby continued to gesticulate wildly.

"He won't let me _go_ Ziva. He…let's just say he's made it clear that he doesn't want to hear another word on the matter, so it's not like I can just go to him with this new information and say oh hey, you know that girl that you don't know and don't care about, her? Yeah, well _she's screwed._ You know what I mean?" Ziva nodded out of habit more than anything. "Of course," she agreed, having no idea whatsoever what she was agreeing to.

Abby continued her wild pacing.

"So…I've got to _do_ something, right? I mean, I told _Megan_ I'd be there, for her _wedding_. I told _Gibbs_ I'd be with this horrible, fun sucking accountant _douche_ …so to not let either of them down, I have to be in both places at once, right?" Ziva wondered briefly what shower gel would wash away the sluggish scent of travel more efficiently. Lavender or lemongrass? She pondered, and had just decided upon lemon grass when the pointed silence on the other end of the line told her she'd missed her cue. "You are right," she hedged, knowing that this was generally the correct answer, "you are so right."

Abby nodded feverishly.

"I know right? I mean…I _get_ that Gibbs has his priorities, and right now my nuptial attendances aren't on that list, but they _are_ on Megan's. It's true love Ziva. Her and Sebastian, they are meant to be. They are literally star crossed. You know what I mean? And if I'm not there, she'll literally have _no one._ No friends or family to celebrate with. I can't imagine anything more painfully painful. Well, I can…if we're being physical, but no…we're not, and there's not. You know what I'm saying?"

Ziva had literally no idea what she was saying.

But it was ok, it was a rhetorical question anyhow.

"So…I guess this is where you come in Ziva," Abby continued, a blatant note of desperation and raw guilt in her voice that instantly alerted her counterpart, "if you'll agree, of course." Ziva stiffened in her chair. She recognised this voice, she knew this voice. This was the " _I have a plan, you're not going to like it, I'm going to talk you into it and eventually Gibbs will find out and kill us_ ," voice. Ziva thought fervently she ought to come up with a more pithy label for that Abby-ism.

"Abby," she hedged, "I really think you ought to listen to Gibbs on this. I take it he has already chewed your butt?" On the other end, the lab rat frowned and blushed at the misstatement. "He uhh…well yeah, I guess I stood for the rest of the day at work," she admitted, "but Ziva, this is literally life or death! This is…this is the _ultimate test_ of friendship. If my ass is not in that bridesmaid's dress tomorrow morning, Megan's whole day would be ruined. I can't _do_ that to her Ziva, I just can't, you have to help me!"

There was silence.

Two security guards exchanged curious glances at the sight of the very pretty woman looking more and more agitated in the car that hadn't moved an inch. Ziva was battling. She knew that Abby was a fiercely loyal friend and to her this situation literally _was_ life or death. But to her, being slightly more rational, this Megan individual ought to really have more sense. She was probably marrying a serial killer. She kept this thought to herself as she chewed.

"What would I have to do?"

She quickly caught herself. Never, ever seem like you're giving carte blanche with Abby. _Ever._

"I am telling you here and now Abby if this plan involves me lying, or covering for _your_ lying to Gibbs, you can forget about it. It is not happening. My ass still hurts every time someone mentions the word _club."_ Both girls flinched at the memory of the butt whooping each had received for stumbling home alone and being the victim of opportunity from a club, not so long ago. Abby ran her hand through her hair in frustration, guilt bubbling inside her. She knew she shouldn't be involving Ziva. She knew it was selfish, and she knew it was wrong. But all she could think about was Megan's face if she turned up at that registry alter with no sign of Abigail Sciuto in sight.

"Abby," Ziva growled in frustration, her late night of travelling and her early return to work in the morning making her irritable, "what would I have to do? Do you want me to explain to this girl why you cannot go? Maybe she should would understand more from a…uhh, third person? You know, none of these err… _emotions,_ to deal with? Is that what you want? For me to talk to her?"

Abby choked on her breath, her plan swimming in her mind.

"No," she countered quietly, "that's not it."

Ziva sighed.

Of course it wouldn't be as simple as that.

"Then what is it? You know, you should really be asleep right now. You need to impress this…accountant _douche_ tomorrow, you know how big this err…evaluation is. Gibbs has been quite…quite _uptight_ about it all."

There was another deathly silence.

Ziva growled angrily, her patience running thin. She just wanted a bath, and bed. Was that too much?

" _Abby? For the love of god what is it you want me to do?"_

There was a gulping of breath, and finally, a whispered answer.

"I need you… to pretend that _you_ are _me_ with the accountant."

….

TBC

…..

A/N: Thoughts?

(For those following other stories, either "Introductions to the Introspective," or "The Best Medicine," is up next for an update. The club reference in this chapter is from a chapter in my previous NCIS fic.)

-Inks


	21. Idendity Crisis

"This is suicide," Ziva whispered in muted horror as she looked at herself in the gleaming steal surface. Her hair was scraped back into a dainty bun, her make-up applied by Abby, made her look like a runaway circus clown, and her freshly minted name badge seemed to vibrate with her subterfuge. She closed her eyes slowly, and tried to control her breathing. The lies after lies that had suddenly piled up out of nowhere and snowballed on top of her very soul, made her feel faint and weak.

She cursed herself as she stared into her reflection. She should have said no. A simple _hell no_ with no room for negotiation. That would have solved all her current problems. The heated discussion in Abby's apartment that had taken place after she drove there from the airport seemed surreal to her now. She had gone there with the one intention of forcing one of her best friends to see some freaking sense, and yet, she had left there having promised she would be Abby Sciuto for a day.

Her pitiful breakfast swirled in her stomach.

Abby had assured her it was a no brainer. The appointment with the accountant was supposed to be an hour, but would really take three hours at the very most. Gibbs was scheduled to be out of the building at a re-examination of two separate crime scenes with Tony and Tim. She had called the team-lead last night, shaking as she held the phone and feigned a severe case of travel sickness and fatigue, pleading off work for one day. He had granted it within an instant, and Ziva had never felt guilt like it as his concerned voice had barrelled down the line demanding she let him know if she needed anything.

She swallowed hard as shameful tears sprang up in her eyes.

She despised lying to him. But lying to him like _that,_ with that kind of concern coming back in response was soul destroying. She shook her head in disgust and a moderate anger. Abby had brought up the time where she had covered for her with Gibbs, not so long ago. The time where Ziva had completely messed up a crime scene sample and Abby had immediately stepped in and corrected the issue to such a degree that the chain of evidence was materially preserved.

She had managed one day of corrosive guilt before she spilled her guts to Gibbs, carefully leaving Abby out of it. He'd of course figured out both girls' involvement in the debacle. He'd been surprisingly easy on them, which in the current moment, made Ziva feel even worse. He'd been angry, but had point blank informed them that nothing they could ever do, save for putting themselves in danger, was as bad as lying to him.

And here she was, lying like a serial killer death row inmate on his way to the chair.

And all because of some _stupid_ wedding.

A stupid wedding of two morons she didn't even _know._

Her heart continued to hammer. If Gibbs, for some reason or reasons popped back to the yard, they were done. He never came back without dropping on Abby, and he may be getting older, but there was no way on God's green earth he was going to accept that two members of his team had suddenly merged into one.

One scientifically unqualified person.

She ran an eye over her cue cards, painfully written out in Abby's hand, and felt her phantom travel sickness kick up a notch. Some of the words she couldn't even truly put oath to _being_ words, and she sure as hell couldn't pronounce them. Her English and idioms had come on leaps and bounds in recent years, but this was really asking for a miracle. A winged horses, Egyptian _god like_ miracle. If this man asked one question, used _one_ word that wasn't on these damned cards, the jig was up.

And her life was over.

She felt her brow pucker up as anger bubbled inside her. At herself and at Abby. This evaluation was important to the agency, which was obvious from the fact that even _Gibbs_ was playing ball. Resources were scarce, recession loomed, and they needed to protect what they had. And here she was, pretending to be some laboratory type individual to prove their forensics worth, when she didn't know one end of a Bunsen burner from the other.

It was madness.

And it was her own stupid fault she was embroiled in it. She needed to learn to say _no_ to Abby. A simple, monosyllabic _no._ But she had let the guilt that she still felt about dragging Abby into _her_ mess with the screwed up sample and her pride in never owing anyone anything weigh over her common sense. And she was in quite the royal mess as a result. She read her cards again, swigged a bottle of water that somehow managed to taste like stagnant pond residue, and glanced at the clock.

He'd be arriving in ten minutes.

She knew how much first impressions determined things like these and she fought to compose herself. She had been an undercover savant since her damned teen years, and that's what she needed to remember. This was just another op, another bout of subterfuge. She needed to play a bluff that was all. This guy needed to think that she was a competent, bad ass scientist in charge of an efficient, cost effective lab.

She felt the room spin.

Why did these words have to be so damned _long?_

Did people actually _speak_ like this?

Everywhere she looked around the lab she saw Abby and she saw Gibbs, and she felt anger and shame in tandem. Anger that she'd been, and allowed herself to be dragged into another kooky Sciuto scheme, and shame that she'd lied to the one man who'd never lied to her. The same man she'd promised she'd never lie to again. The same man who had practically pleaded with her to be truthful with him, no matter what and no matter when.

And she hadn't.

The doors swishing open caught her by surprise, as did the clackety clap of an interns heels.

Swinging around, the pristine lab coat proclaiming her as forensics specialist Abby Sciuto felt impossibly heavy on her slim shoulders. This was the game now. This was the op, and she needed to slap that game face on hard and fast. Her fast split into an unnatural, but convincing smile as she extended a slim hand to a mild mannered looking individual, who the intern breathily announced as Dr Gregory Jenkins.

"How do you do," the middle aged accountant greeted politely, as the clueless intern clapped from the room, his hand felt sweaty in hers and she had to consciously prevent disdain crossing her face. "I am very well, thank you," Ziva answered in chipper tones that felt so unlike her usual voice it was almost alien.

Nodding as he released her hand, Gregory swallowed hard.

This woman…this uhh… _Abigail_ was stunning.

He'd audited the forensics department of many a governmental agency, and none of the lead scientists had looked like this one. He cleared his throat nervously, and indicated to the thick briefcase he clutched under a tweed coat clad arm. "Shall…we uhh get started then?" Glancing down at the bulging case, Ziva fought hard to slap a confident smile on her face.

"Of course," she crooned breathily, sensing this stuttering individual's attraction to her, and knowing instinctively it was an asset in getting out of this horror. She indicated towards the clear counter top and two stools. She sat down quickly as Gregory fumbled his way onto his stool. There was an awkward silence for a moment as he wrestled with his case and extracted what appeared to be a thick questionnaire. Ziva licked her lips nervously.

Pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose, the jumpy accountant spread his checklist out in front of him. "So," he stuttered, "I guess we'll start with the basics. I have all your educational and employment details, so let's just get on with the running of this particular lab, ok?"

Ziva smiled her faux grin of confidence.

"Sure."

His nervous smile somehow eased her own nerves somewhat. Clearly this guy was not at ease, and that gave her the upper hand. She'd bluff what she didn't know, and hope that his obvious social insecurities would mask any intense inquiries he may have. It wasn't the most clad iron plan, but when you're a former assassin pretending to be a grounded scientist, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"So…tell me how you vet, tender and procure contracts for supplies for your lab, Miss Sciuto?"

Ziva stared.

This…was not on the cue cards.

This…was not something she was prepared for.

Gregory raised a brow, and rephrased.

"How do you decide which companies supply your base chemicals? Do you align yourself to public procurement practices laid down in the inter-agency regulations, or do you apply your own determinations in cost efficiency?"

The walls were starting to close in; Gregory's pen was hovering menacingly.

Abby's cards were theory based. _Not finance based._

She had assured her that this Gregory would be assessing her fitness, academically and practically to run a governmental lab. That would seem to be the case in other agency audits, as leaked from friends in various different branches. Ziva sucked in a breath and smiled her reassuring smile. "Forgive me," she tinkled, and the dilation of his pupils was instantaneous, "I suppose I thought our conversation would be more scientific than err…commercial?"

Gregory stared.

"Miss Sciuto," he spluttered, "I am an accountant. I have a vague interest in science, but surely nothing to your standard. I'm not sure how you could think I could hold a determinative audit on those grounds?"

Ziva slapped a hand over her face and let out a girlish giggle that made her feel ill.

"Oh, Gregory you'll have to excuse me," she laughed, focusing hard on her contractions, making them sound natural, "I think I got you mixed up with an audit we're expecting _next_ week." She shook her head in feigned exasperation. "You know how it is."

Gregory felt his facial muscles spasm.

This woman's dimples were something out of this world.

"Of course," he breathed, willing to practically agree with anything she said, "it's so hectic."

Ziva nodded emphatically. "I know…so, why don't you ask me your questions again Gregory."

He nodded fervently, and glanced down at his papers once more. Ziva steeled herself. She could do this. She just had to give non committal answers, that didn't sound vague. She ensured her face was open, like she had been trained, and maintained her advantage in being control of the situation. Gregory worked through question after question, and Ziva managed to smile and hedge her way through each one, hesitating just enough to seem like she was genuinely thinking of her answers.

On and on it went.

Degree of spoilage?

Answered.

Frequency of inventory and level of rigidity of stock control?

Answered.

As Ziva worked her way through query after query, Abby danced through song after song. The wedding was beautiful, Megan was a stunning bride but as she twirled through another jazz number, Abby felt sick. Guilt ate at her, and her cell seemed to weigh a metric tonne in her purse. She was waiting, waiting and _waiting_ for the much anticipated "victory" text from Ziva. Her friend's happiness was a joy to see, but she knew as she moved from spot to spot that she'd jeopardized the friendship of someone who meant a lot more to her.

Megan was a good friend.

But Ziva…she was family.

She knew she shouldn't have dragged into her mess. She knew she shouldn't have brought up Ziva's sample mishap to force her friend's hand. She knew she shouldn't have given her no choice but to lie to Gibbs alongside her. All in all…she knew she'd really screwed up, and frankly, she'd never enjoyed a wedding less. A dull leaden feeling coated her gut, and every smile that beamed through her face was false and pained.

All she really wanted to do was to leave, find Ziva, and beg her forgiveness.

But she knew she didn't deserve it.

And she knew her friend wasn't out of the accountant woods yet.

There was still no text.

She forced herself to smile as Megan approached her from behind and slipped grateful arms around her. Meanwhile, the inquisition was drawing to a merciful end back at the Navy Yard. All in all, Gregory was impressed. Ms Scuito answered his questions at a tempo consistent with truth telling, she was frank in her discussions and appeared to possess suitable business acumen to cut costs where they could be cut.

This made the federal government happy people.

Two hours and twelve minutes had elapsed, with Ziva becoming more and more comfortable with her bluff. She didn't know what in the blue sky she was saying, but it sure sounded good and Gregory sure seemed to buy it. His hand suddenly was thrust across the table, and taking it with a blink, she realised that he was calling the meeting to an end. Whilst professing his provisional satisfaction with the interview, final results would be posted in three to four working days.

He gave a jerky, awkward nod as he made to stand.

She really was beautiful, as well as smart.

As he made to rise, his hand suddenly brushed off something wet and large. Recoiling in horror, such was his distaste for the unknown; he jerked his head for the source. Ziva's eyes followed his and one set of eyes widened in moderate confusion whilst another narrowed in heart stopping horror.

It sat there, unassuming in its presence, innocent in its intent, stealthy in its entry.

Gregory turned around first, and winced.

"Really, that's very kind of you," he sputtered, reddening somewhat, "but I really don't intake things like that."

The condensing vessel was suddenly raised up from the table, and thrust into Ziva's trembling hands.

"Oh no," explained Gibbs, as he melted out from the shadows with a deafening coolness, eying Ziva with a rage she had rarely ever seen, "that's not for you Gregory, though it _is_ nice to see you again."

He cleared his throat with a menacing growl, whilst managing in Gregory's eyes, to appear happily calm.

"My Abby here just _loves_ Caf-Pow's."

….

TBC

….

A/N: Thoughts? Update soon.


	22. Crashed the Wedding

As the doors swooshed to a close, enclosing the sacrificial lamb securely in the spitting lion's den, an oppressive silence descended. The cool drink in her hands seemed to burn against her skin, its dripping condensation simply not a match for the trickle of sweat that was breaking out from under the dark mop of hair. He didn't speak, not for a moment, as he slowly circled towards her. His eyes were crackling with a wild fire of rage. His face oozed shock and disappointment from every wrinkle and crevice.

In that moment, he for the first time looked his age.

She wished the foundations beneath her would simply give way and swallow her whole.

"I didn't know you had such an interest in forensics, Ziva," Gibbs eventually challenged, in a dangerously silky tone, "slipped your mind, did it?" He moved closer to her, halting directly on the side of the table where the vacated Gregory had sat and placed two hands slowly upon it. "I gotta say, you're looking _much_ better than how you sounded on the phone. Did you take something for your travel sickness and ahh… _fatigue?"_

The drink slipped in her hands and she barely caught it before it careered to the floor.

"I…uhh….well," she gabbled furiously, her heart caterwauling in her chest. "There has been a…I mean to say that there has been a…"

"A complete and utter show of disgusting deception and disgraceful disrespect?"

Her breath stuck in her throat as she dropped her gaze to the floor. She was fighting back the instinct to physically vomit over every surface in the gleaming lab. Her hands felt cold, her legs were tingling with the influx of blood they were receiving. She was well and truly in the grips of the fight or flight response. Even her own body knew her days on the green earth were painfully limited.

She managed to nod, for the first time not trusting herself not to burst into tears if she spoke. This is why she did _not_ want to get involved in this in the first place. The look on his face right now was worse than anything he could do to her. The fading shock and disbelief, being replaced with a burning disappointment and a ferocious looking anger. Her shoulders slumped as she felt his gaze boring into her.

"Go wait by my car," he suddenly instructed, and the downright cold tone in his voice made her flinch. "I'll be out in a minute. Take off that coat and give me that ID and get yourself out of my sight. I need to calm down before I even think about being in an enclosed space with you."

He snapped his fingers, drawing her head up with an equal snap. The look he shot her was terrifying.

"Coat and badge, now. Then go."

With uncharacteristically trembling fingers, she dislodged the forged ID that proclaimed her to be one Abigail Sciuto. She placed it in his outstretched hand, keeping her eyes low. It was a testament to how very livid he was that that he didn't insist on eye contact. She struggled to get out of the lab coat, her quivering limbs providing little assistance as she fought against the clinical garment.

In any other circumstance, her struggling would have elicited his crooked smile and he would have carefully aided her. Now, now he just stared coolly as she fought to extract herself from the long coat. Eventually she managed it, and folding it up in a neat little ball she placed it with the badge in his awaiting hand. He snapped the two on the metal surface, and jerked his head towards the door.

"Out."

She barely managed to communicate this instruction to her legs, and they wobbled perilously as she skirted passed him and towards the door. Her heart weighed a metric tonne in her chest. She'd been in Gibbs' bad books far more often than she would ever care to think about. But…it was a rarity that he couldn't even look at her. It was far from common for her to be banished from his sight, with cold, cool orders.

Her eyes, to her utter shame, swam with burning tears as she made her way to the elevator.

The minutes the doors swished shut, Gibbs let out a loud groan and dropped his head into his hands. He'd seen some stunts from his lot in his time. He thought he'd seen it all really, at this stage. But apparently he'd been quite painfully incorrect. He looked down at Ziva's face smiling up at him from an Abigail Scuito accreditation badge and felt his head shake slowly.

He couldn't quite believe the nerve, and the audacity of it.

He just couldn't quite comprehend it.

Even Tony wouldn't think about pulling a move like it. He scrubbed his face in agitation. Anger bubbled inside him like the most molten of magma and he had to breathe through it, he had to calm himself the hell down. Sucking in some air he forced himself to think rationally, but, unfortunately that made him madder still. He'd been focussed, thus to had his rage, on Ziva. She was the representation of the fraud, the first he'd happened across.

But this situation didn't ring of a Ziva conception.

His jaw hardened as all the pieces fell neatly together and the full picture loomed large.

 _Abby._

His hands literally shook with anger in front of him, and he clenched them rightly. That damned wedding. She had found her a way around his express forbidding of her attendance, and somehow coerced Ziva into her plan. He bit his lip furiously, his eyes blazing with temper. He had expressly warned her, _repeatedly_ to stop dragging the other three into her hair brained schemes. She knew how to work each and every single one of them, and he had grown tired of it.

He _had_ thought he'd gotten through to her one that score.

Wrong again.

Shaking his head, a leaden disappointment spread throughout him. He knew she pushed and prodded every single boundary he put in place, but _this…_ was really taking the biscuit. He was done. He was done with making allowances and lengthening the leeway. He was done. Yanking his car keys from his pocket, he swept from the lab and barrelled his way through to the car lot. Reaching his trusty vehicle, he noted that Ziva was standing shiftily beside it, looking at anything and everything except him.

He shook his head once more as he unlocked it with an oddly loud beep.

"Get in," he ordered quietly, throwing himself behind the steering wheel. She hesitated for a split second before obeying, slipping quietly beside him and keeping her head down. He could feel the regret and remorse radiating off her and he barely stifled a sigh. "Seatbelt on," he added shortly, as he kicked the car into gear, "and give me the address of this damned hellacious _wedding."_

She swallowed hard as she fastened her belt with still trembling fingers.

For a split second she was seized with the bizarre desire to lie. To look surprised and bewildered at the mention of such a wedding. To deny all knowledge. To…fabricate some rational explanation as to why she had spent the last two or so hours with a government bean counter under the guise of their resident lab rat. One look however, one blink of an eye in his direction and she knew that would be to sign her very own death warrant.

He hadn't been this angry in a _long_ time.

She choked out the address.

There really was no other choice. She cursed herself as he sped up and zipped along the quiet road. She hadn't even thought to use her time banished to the parking lot to text Abby. To warn her of the impending hell that was about to rain down on their hands. She felt her phone resting against her leg, and swallowed hard. Maybe she could just….

"Don't even think about it," Gibbs barked, "Abby loves surprises. You don't want to ruin it, do you?"

Ziva damn near swallowed her own tonsils.

He was a freakish mind reader. There was simply no other explanation. Silence lapped the car as she gave up all hope of forewarning Abby about the gate crashing from hell that was about to commence. They were about three minutes out from the cause of this mess, and her heart grew more and more heavy with each and every mile cleared.

This was a bad situation.

This was a, oh so very _bad_ situation _._

As with the curious tricks of time, it seemed that only a blink of an eye had passed when they were grinding to a halt outside the registry office. Snapping the engine to a standstill, Gibbs threw off his belt and sucked in a deep lungful of air, before turning to his horrified looking passenger.

"Give me your phone."

She blinked.

"Gibbs…I…."

He thrust out a hand and shot her his most deathliest glare.

"Don't you dare make me ask you again."

She rummaged in her pocket and quickly placed the offending device in his awaiting hand, his fingers curling around it immediately. Without another word, he slipped out from behind the wheel and was soon marching across the daintily blowing shrubbery that adorned the office. Ziva watched his stiffened, retreating back and let out a little whimper.

They were dead.

Pushing his way through the hustle and bustle of small wedding groups, Gibbs forced his way through to the reception holding area. There appeared to be two weddings in progress, and the first group of merry revellers did not contain his prey. Shouldering through them, uncaring as to his ill manners, he shoved his way into the next party.

His mouth instantly tightened so hard his lips appeared to sink into his face and disappear completely.

Dancing with some guy twice her age, and with _wandering_ hands was one Abigail Sciuto. Twirling through the jaunty jazz number, she appeared to be having a whale of a time. Gibbs felt his already inferno level anger combust into something much more terrifying. Coming to a snap decision, he moved out of the line of direct noise but kept her within his direct line of sight. He could see her as plain as day, but she could not see him.

Flipping up his cell, he punched the appropriate speed dial and gritted his teeth.

Two seconds later, he watched as Abby stopped mid dance and began to root about in her purse. The creepy older man waited patiently, drinking her in with his eyes, enraging Gibbs all the more. Eventually she found her cell, and he watched as she paled and debated furiously with herself. Eventually she answered, and he could tell that she was making a concerted effort to sound calm and collected.

"Uh hey, Gibbs…how're you?"

He shook his head in disbelief, but forced himself to carry on.

"All good Abbs. Just wondering, where are you on the samples we sent back to the lab about an hour ago? We need them to work into the new reports, the local LEO's did one half ass job examining the crime scenes."

He snapped his mouth shut and watched as she near keeled over in horror.

"Samples?" she squeaked, as he watched her run a frantic hand through her hair, "ohh…" she recovered jerkily, "those…uhh…samples, yes. They're just…." She paled further under his concealed eye. "They're just running now Gibbs, I should uhm…have them in about three err…hours, or so."

He felt his jaw twitch with ire.

"Great," he ground out slowly, "I'll pick them up when I get back. You're in the lab right now, yes?"

She threw her eyes up to heaven in horror as she grappled with the question, much to the confusion of her dancing partner.

"Yup," she managed to squeak out, "I'm a lab tech…so I'm uhm…you know…in the lab…right now."

He'd had enough. Not answering, he began to cross the floor. Her look of confused horror at the silence on the other end of the line was apparent, as he ducked behind her line of sight and began approaching her from the back. He locked eyes with her now ignored dancing buddy, who quailed under the ferocious look the grey haired man sent him and immediately scattered for the hills.

Abby didn't even notice his exit.

"Uhh…Gibbs?" she mumbled down the line, feeling sick to her very stomach, "you still there?"

He was right behind her now, scorching her back with a glare that would ignite a forest fire.

"Still here, Abbs."

He watched as she ran a hand through her hair once more, narrowly missing his face in the process.

"Ok…so I guess I'll uhh…see you later then?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Oh I think we'll be seeing each other sooner than that."

She stiffened in front of him, and he instinctively reached out and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Turning her around with one grasp, he snapped his cell shut as she pivoted to face him. Her face instantly drained of all blood and her stance wobbled as the band struck up another song in the background.

Gibbs looked at her in a way that made her organs tremble, as desperate shock and disbelief coursed through her, before extending a large hand. His eyes were screaming with rage and his face was contorted with absolute and cutting disappointment.

"Can I have this dance?"

…

TBC

…..


	23. Yours?

He marched three steps forwards. He marched three steps back. He marched another three steps forward, before about facing and making the journey straight back again. He was paler than usual, and currently resembled a rather star struck clownfish as he opened and closed his mouth with an almost spasm like gate. His enraged stance seemed to cast a long shadow and two young women, usually so self assured and assertive practically cowered in its heady cloak.

There was fury…and then there was this.

He'd open his mouth, turn to stare at them, before shaking his head in an almost vigorous state of disbelief. The mouth would then be clamped shut and the pacing would begin anew. A clammy Ziva and an outright shaking Abby were frankly getting quite dizzy as their eyes followed his up and down… and up and down. The slinky fabric of the bridesmaid dress seemed to shimmer in a mocking victory up at the elder of the as she struggled to control her breathing. The corset that had once delighted her seemed to choke her in its hold and it was all she could do to keep from hyperventilating.

Ziva on the other hand, remained outwardly composed. She was pale, and a sheen of nervous sweat clung to her sallow skin, but other than that she betrayed no sign of distress. Her training wouldn't allow for it. Never, ever present emotion in the middle of a battle. And she knew without doubt that this living room was the current scene of one of the most wracking encounters she'd ever been in. Her own sense of anger and despair stormed through her. She didn't glance at Abby, scared she may lose control and actually reach out and throttle her.

She was to blame for her own actions, she knew that.

But if it wasn't for Abby and her _constant_ "save the world" schemes, she wouldn't be in this mess. She wouldn't be standing rapt to attention in front of the man she basically considered her father, feeling the pressure of his waves of anger suffocate her. She wouldn't be consumed with guilt that festered from the stagnant pool of her lies and deception. She'd most likely be joking around with the boys in the bull pen, glad to be home after a long bout of travel. But…oh no, that wasn't to be. And she knew she was her own downfall…but damnit to all hell if Abby wasn't the trigger.

She felt words rise up in her throat like vomit before quickly swallowing them down. The silence was deafening and it was killing her, but she knew all too well that trying to get Gibbs to talk before he was ready was suicide. Not that it really mattered, since she was quite sure that neither of them would ever see another day, but the instinct was ingrained. She slowly dropped her gaze back down to her feet and out of the corner of her eye saw Abby mirror her.

Gibbs for his part continued his pacing and focussed on his breathing. How he had gotten his girls home without killing them and without crashing the car such was his blind rage, he didn't know. Now as he marched up and down he barely felt the salving of his ire. He tried to find the words, several times in fact but they just wouldn't come. He was literally too enraged to speak. Spinning on his heel for what felt like the hundredth time, he paced in front of the horrified looking duo. They were lined up in front of him, in the middle of his living room floor, looking all the world as if he they expected to be shot.

His jaw tightened, an alarming twitch gyrating at the side of his neck.

One of these days…

"Get up those stairs and change out of your _party_ and _dress up_ clothes," he suddenly barked, surprising even himself with the sound of his strained voice. Abby and Ziva nearly cleared two feet in the air as they snapped their necks up. He closed his eyes briefly. "And stay up there until I call you back down." He shot them the hardest of hard looks, before throwing a hand frostily in the direction of the stair case.

"Out of my sight. The pair of you."

Not waiting to see would he be obeyed, he spun on his heel and stormed off into the direction of his beloved basement. He was completely out of control and he knew it. His whole body vibrated with ire, and he was painfully aware it would take some serious hammering at his boat to calm him down after this, the latest of fiascos. Hurtling down the steps, he heard the tell-tale signs of Abby and Ziva trudging slowly upstairs as instructed.

Grabbing the nearest hammer and chisel he felt his teeth grind.

So apparently they _could_ do as they were told.

But simply chose not to.

All the damned time, in so many different god damned ways.

Just as he was about to lash into a completely inoffensive hardwood frame, the doorbell, so rarely used jangled alarmingly and startled him. Recovering and snarling, he threw the hammer and chisel down and forced himself upstairs. Anyone who was ringing the bell was someone he didn't know well enough to just walk in, and he most certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone fitting _that_ description tonight.

Wiping his hands on the sides of his pants, he didn't bother looking through the peep hole before throwing the door open, with the full and frank intent to tell whoever it was to shove their insurance policies up their ass. He wasn't, therefore, prepared for the sight that did greet him. Blinking rapidly, and tilting his head to the side in an uncharacteristic bout of shock, Gibbs was speechless.

But just for a moment.

"What's the meaning of this, officer?" he barked at one of the two persons on his doorstep, alternating his gaze between the two with complete and utter confusion. The rather exasperated looking patrol man threw his eyes up to heaven, before shooting the clearly very drunken young man in his grasp a tired look.

"This genius is either going to jail or somewhere he can be looked after until he knows how to stand up, all on his own. He was picked up entering a crime scene, _drunk_ as a coot and claimed to be NCIS. No ID of course, but says he's one of yours. Your err…reputation precedes you, Agent Gibbs, so I thought I'd do you the courtesy of making sure that this stays off the books. He just needs somewhere to crash where I won't have to worry about him choking on his own damned vomit."

He paused, to shoot another exasperated look at the swaying young man in his clutches.

"So is he? One of yours?"

Gibbs felt his jaw slacken once more as he nodded faintly, wondering how in the hell his day could possibly have gotten so much worse from an already rather dire staring point.

Nodding in sympathy, the patrolman gently shoved the kid forwards where Gibbs instinctively reached out and grabbed him, controlling his swaying with expertise and experience.

"What's the lad's name anyway? He couldn't even tell me that much after I got NCIS out of him."

Gibbs tightened his grip on the gently humming, completely oblivious and utterly wasted young man in his grasp and barely found the words to speak, and when he did, the shock rung heartily in his words.

"His name is Jimmy Palmer."

A/N: So, yeah, I'm back! After what feels like two very long months nearly! I'd just like to say such a big thanks to all those who messaged me good luck about my exams etc. They're over now, and went much better than I thought they would! Back to being a real human now, and back into the full swing of writing. This short chapter was just to get up and running again, and all other stories will be updated shortly!

A/N(2): I'd also like to say another big thanks. This update marks time at just over a year that I've been writing on this site. From being absolutely terrified from my first story, to now, I've really grown in confidence thanks to you guys and your taking the time to leave feedback. I really appreciate it, and I hope I'm writing a similar AN a year from now! Just wanted to say thanks!

-Inks.


	24. House Party

Gibbs looked down in horror as the door closed behind the chuckling police officer. Whatever way he had envisaged his night going down, he didn't factor having one James Palmer snuggling into his chest into the equation. Suddenly, the situation with his girls seemed less mammoth. He closed his eyes wearily. He was more than used to navigating a drunken Tony or Tim, but this…was a different ball game altogether. Jimmy was utterly wasted, seemed completely unaware of whose torso he was lolling against and the gentle humming emanating from him suggested he was quite content.

"Hmmm…wa…warm," Jimmy hiccoughed lazily into the chest of the man who usually terrified him.

Gibbs sighed so heavily his lungs shuddered in angry protest.

Dr Mallard needn't think, in the comfort of his carefree home that he was getting away with this.

He had four of his own to deal with.

Jimmy was _his_ problem.

Struggling slightly with the tall frame, he carefully cajoled the drunken caller further into the living room. It annoyed him that he actually cared how the kid was. He ought to be hopping mad, having his house invaded like this, but he wasn't. Not really. He was concerned. Jimmy wasn't exactly that big of a drinker and something must have set him off to get into this kind of state. Depositing the half awake, half asleep assistant on his sofa, he wiped his dampened brow.

He was getting too old for this.

The cell rang slowly as he waited impatiently for it to connect. Rolling his eyes, he stooped down and carefully removed Palmer's glasses from his hands.

The kid was trying to brush his hair with them.

"Is there a case, Jethro?"

The sleepy, sluggish voice was almost bemused. For a moment, Gibbs couldn't answer as he ducked down once again to prevent a now giggling Palmer from falling head first off the sofa. "Jethro? Is there something I can do for you?" Gibbs let out a low growl. Tightening one hand on the phone, and the other around the scruff of Jimmy's shirt, he breathed deeply.

"Yes, doctor, there is. You can get your ass over to my house and pick up your drunk as hell assistant!"

There was an utterly bemused silence.

"Jethro, have you been at the scotch again? You know how you get after scotch."

Gibbs growled indignantly, jerking Palmer gently back from the edge. The young assistant seemed to find this near falling business outrageously humorous, and he let out a drunken chuckle as he veered towards the edge of the sofa once more. "Whoever is that laughing in the background Jethro? They sound quite mad."

"That would be your drunk as hell protégée, Duck."

Silence bellowed through the phone.

"What the devil is going on over there Jethro?" Ducky suddenly thundered, causing Gibbs' eyebrows to shoot up. So it was _his_ fault now? Pulling Jimmy back from his successive and chortling escape attempt, Gibbs sighed. "Look, Duck…I don't know, ok? Cops showed up at me door with your lad in tow and-"

"Policemen?" Ducky interjected with a twinge of fury, overridden by extreme onset anxiety. "Why…what in the name…what happened? Is he hurt? Have you hurt him? I swear down Jethro if you do anything to that lad I will-"

"Jeez, Duck…calm down would ya?" Gibbs interrupted tiredly. "All I know is that Palmer, for whatever reason, decided to get blitzed tonight and then tried to get into a crime scene. Don't ask me which one, because I don't know. He told the cops he was one of mine, and they brought him here rather than lock up. He doesn't know who he is right now, let alone where he is. So…could you come get him? It's just…I kinda got my hands full with the girls right now…"

The silence was oppressive once more.

"A crime scene?" Ducky repeated quietly, so quietly it put Gibbs' teeth on edge. He knew his friend. He knew his tells. The doctor…for whatever reason had gone from mad and worried to downright livid. "He was trying to enter a crime scene?"

Gibbs suddenly, and bizarrely, felt an overwhelming need to protect the kid who was now absentmindedly poking his finger through a long standing hole in his sofa.

"Well…yeah, Duck, that's what they said. But…he's out of it; he probably wouldn't be able to tell a crime scene from a takeout joint. It's probably just one big misunderstanding. Look, it's late. He can rack here, I guess. You don't need to come get him. I'll send him on his way in the morning, ok?"

"A misunderstanding?" Ducky repeated slowly, "Do you think so, Jethro? Did it not strike you as strange that Mr Palmer would have chosen to be escorted to your home, over mine?" Gibbs considered this as he once again came between Jimmy and his new penchant for nose dives. Grunting slightly with the effort, he sighed. "Well yeah…it's a bit…odd, but like I said, he's wasted. He doesn't know what he's doing or saying."

Ducky growled darkly, and Gibbs' brows shot up in confusion.

This was not the Dr Mallard he knew.

"Duck?"

Catching Jimmy expertly as he went for the floor once more, Gibbs felt his patience dissipating. "Palmer," he hissed quietly, "If you don't cut that out I swear to…"

"I warned him," Ducky interrupted quietly, so quietly it unnerved even his oldest friend. "I told him…and he did it anyway. How is he feeling?" he added, as if unable to help it. "Is he getting sick? If he is getting sick Jethro, you must…never mind, never mind…I'm coming over. You must not let him out of your sight until I get there. Keep him on his side, won't you? He gets sick after drinking. He knows he can't handle…never mind, I'm on my way, just keep him there."

Gibbs was struck by the realisation that there was a back story to this that he was ignorant of.

And still, he was struck by the desire to shield Palmer from Ducky.

He never would have believed it.

But there was such rage in his friend's voice that would be nearly undetectable to anyone else. To him though, it was clear as day. Looking down and holding firmly to the prone figure splayed on his sofa, he felt an annoyingly strong protective instinct for young Palmer. He was suddenly struck with the idea that this must be how Ducky felt on the odd occasion he had seen fit to play aider and abettor to one of his four.

"Duck," he began, in his most placating tone, "The kid's beat. Maybe it's best to just let him rack here and I'll-"

"I will be there in half an hour Jethro," Ducky interjected firmly, and the boiling anger behind his tone was evident as all hell. "I'm afraid I have been far too lenient with young Mr Palmer for far too long. I think it's about high time I took a leaf out of your book."

The call disconnected before Gibbs could utter another word.

Staring down at the now grinningly slumbering Palmer, he shook his head faintly. "Hell…kid, what have you done?" he muttered incredulously, as he reached up the back of the sofa and pulled the blanket down over the unexpected visitor. Stepping back, he looked up to see a radically different looking Abby and Ziva gawping in the middle of the stairs. Gone was the pretend scientist outfit and the wedding ensemble, but both wore equal and identical expressions of shock.

Gibbs sighed and hissed lowly.

"What did I tell you two? Get your butts back up those stairs until I call you!"

Despite the seriousness of their own situation, the two disobeyed and flew down the stairs to land beside him quietly. Gibbs briefly wondered if he was forensically sophisticated enough to kill all three of them, without leaving a trace, before fleeing to Mexico. But one look at the intense worry on their faces, and he mellowed, just a bit.

"Ducky's coming to get him," he whispered, "He's fine. Just…a little wasted."

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

This was turning into one of the longest days of his existence.

"Don't think this changes anything. You two are still getting what you both got coming, whether he's here or not." He pointed to the staircase. "Now, this is the last time I'll say it. You get your butts back up those stairs and sit up there, while you still can." He shook his head. "Five of you, and not one of you can do as you're goddamned told. You know, I ought to-"

What he ought to do, they never found out.

Jimmy chose the moment to groan heartily and curl up into the foetal position, before lurching forwards. As the medical assistant vomited wildly over the edge of the sofa, and directly onto the bared feet of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Ziva and Abby exchanged looks of absolute horror.

Before finally, taking Gibbs up on his advice.

They turned swiftly on the spot.

And they raced each other up those damned stairs.

…

A/N: Thoughts? Abby and Ziva are up next, with a side helping of Palmer. TBC


	25. Does it Work?

Hearing the door creak open about forty minutes later, Gibbs rose from his vomit collecting duties with a grim expression. At least with his boys, they managed to keep the contents of their stomachs internal when they'd had one too many. Jimmy, it would seem, was not blessed with the same trait. Jerking his head down in the direction of the now fitfully slumbering medical assistant, he strode into the kitchen with the vomit laden basin as Ducky eased himself into the house. He told himself that it was the smell in the kitchen, the stench of putrid regurgitation that had him hightailing back into the living room. But it wasn't.

It was the look on Ducky's face.

He really didn't need a murder investigation being launched in his own house.

He was more than relieved therefore to see Ducky bent over Jimmy with an expression of consternation as opposed to homicidal intent. "How much do you think he's had to drink Jethro?" the slightly older man whispered in astonishment, "I have never seen him quite…so inebriated. It isn't like him. Not like him at all." He glanced back down at his feebly stirring protégée as Gibbs felt a stab of sympathy. Ducky wasn't all that used to dealing with a Palmer in distress, and it showed clearly on his face.

"Ah he'll be alright Duck, he's gotten most of it up by now. Would guess it was more of a variety than a quantity that did him in. Let him sleep it off, and besides a hangover I wouldn't wish on Fornell, he should be just fine." He indicated towards the kitchen as Palmer drifted back into sleep once more. "You want a drink? No point in standing over him, he's gonna be out for the count in a minute." Ducky stared for a moment, as if torn, before shaking his head. "No thank you, Jethro," he declined firmly, "And I must insist upon my position on the phone earlier, Jimmy shall be coming with me now. Thank you for your assistance, and we shall no doubt speak tomorrow."

Gibbs ogled.

"But…can't you see the kid's out of it, Duck?" he protested, "What's the point in waking him up? You know what he does when he's awake? He pukes everywhere, that's what. And I mean everywhere. Let him sleep for the love of all that's holy will ya?" Once again, the medical examiner appeared conflicted for a moment before robustly shaking his head. "No," he declined quietly, "It is best…that Mr Palmer wakes from his slumber in more appropriate surroundings, and you as you say, have some sort of issue with Abigail and Ziva?"

Gibbs felt a headache coming on.

"Don't remind me," he muttered, "Look, what's going on here Duck? What's all this about crime scenes? I may not know Palmer that well, but I know he ain't a drinker. Obviously something's up and obviously you know what it is and its making you drag him out of here when he can't even sit up straight. You want to clue me in?" His words hung in the air for a moment as Ducky pondered with a creased brow. There was an odd sense of sadness radiating from him, subtle and yet tangible. Fiddling almost unknowingly with his bow time, he gave an uncharacteristic shrug of his shoulders.

"You have quite enough on your plate," he eventually declared, "And we really must be going. Now, I'm not what I used to be. Do you think you could give me a hand with him? I have the car outside the door, but I'm rather afraid I shan't make it there under Mr Palmer's weight." He frowned. "However slight." Shaking his head and feeling utterly wrong footed, Gibbs felt like a centurion. Closing the distance between himself and his old friend, he examined him closely with his gaze. There was something going on, something that had been going on for a while, and it was something that was bothersome for the doctor. And judging by the impact it was having on both doctor and student, it was something he should know.

Before he could enquire any further, subtle movement on the stairs caught his expert eye.

"If I have to tell you two _one_ more time," he suddenly growled, causing Ducky to step back in alarm. Before he could turn on the spot, Ziva had already seized Abby's arm and dragged her back up the stairs. "Who are you talking to Jethro?" the doctor asked quietly, as if suddenly seized by a deep concern for his friend's mental health. Rolling his eyes, Gibbs pointed to the ceiling. "The two pain's in my ass that are currently up there."

Ducky couldn't help but chuckle lightly.

"I doubt that should be your interpretation of them for too long. I'm afraid they have you wrapped around their joint little fingers." Gibbs shook his head slowly and indicated towards the kitchen. This time, Ducky decided to follow. Pouring two cups of coffee from the pot that was always brewing; the team lead leaned against the cupboards and sighed. "Not this time Duck," he contradicted quietly, "I could honestly kill the pair of them."

Accepting the mug that was offered, Ducky felt his own problems slip to the side for a moment as he raised a surprised brow. "That kind of murderous intent is usually saved for young Anthony and Timothy. I must say, I don't think I've ever heard you say such a thing about _Abby,_ what on earth have they done?" Taking in a soothing sip of caffeine, Gibbs chewed his lip for a moment before recounting the whole sorry tale to his friend, who he could instantly see was struggling to keep a straight face.

"It's not funny Duck," he growled, "They could have gotten us all the sack. Damned budget cuts are lethal this year, and both those geniuses know it. And they go and pull this kind of a stunt. I mean, what have I ever done to deserve this kind of carry on. Even Tony's never done something so frigging moronic. I swear if I don't kill them first they'll be the cause of my early grave. You mark my words, doctor." Ducky kept his thoughts to himself for the most part. He could understand his friend's frustration, but knew that deep down he would be over it the moment it was dealt with. Worrying his bottom lip as a not so sudden thought occurred to him, he took in a deep breath before speaking in a much quieter voice than usual.

"Does it really work, Jethro? Your ahh…more traditional and well, domestic, methods?"

Gibbs stared over the rim of his cup, with a tilted head.

"Huh?"

Ducky clutched the warm cup tighter to him as he exhaled slowly. He had never, ever envisaged having this conversation with his friend, having battled with him on many times on what he considered to be his unduly tough treatment of his team, at times. "You're aware of the disagreements we have had in the past, regarding, particularly in relation to the boys…how hard you can be on them. The high standards you rigidly hold them to?"

Gibbs stared for another moment, before sighing deeply. Given the situation both Abby and Ziva were currently in, he really didn't fancy another protracted lecture on how he was too much of a hard ass. It was alright for Ducky, he was the naturally friendly one, the naturally avuncular one. He was the one on the sidelines, great for cheering on but not obligated to wade in when the team fell into shambles on the field. "You really gonna give me another talking to about this, Duck? Now?" Gibbs questioned in exasperation.

The kindly medical examiner shook his head slowly.

"No Jethro," he countered, "I'm asking you does it work...not to chastise you for your approach with your team. I'm asking you does it work, because…well," he gestured into the living room that housed the slightly snoring Jimmy and took the deepest of breaths, "I'm rather at my wits end."

Gibbs couldn't help spluttering on his coffee. Wiping his mouth slowly, he felt his eyes widen somewhat. "Seriously?" he demanded softly, "After all the crap you've given me over the years, telling me what an asshole I am, _now_ you want to see does it work? After one drinking binge and one ride along with some gung-ho cops? Ducky shook his head vehemently, understanding Gibbs' incredulity at his apparent u-turn.

"It's more complicated than that," he defended, "You don't know-"

"You're right," Gibbs interjected swiftly, "I don't. I wasn't born yesterday, doctor, there's something going on between you and the kid. By the looks of it, it's been going on for a while. You wouldn't be this pissed over a simple one too many if there wasn't, or so worked up over some damned crime scene. Would ya just tell me what the hell is going on?" He gestured upstairs with an impatient jerk of his head. "I've had just about my entire fill of secrecy from them, Duck; I don't need it from you too."

Ducky had the grace to look moderately abashed.

"Why did he go to that crime scene?" Gibbs pressed on; knowing that to give the man any time to think would result in an unnecessary degree of waffling. "Why did you tell him not to go there? What was in there that he wanted? If he's messed up in something Ducky, trust me, you need to spit it out right now. Covering up for him isn't going to end well for him, I should know. You're not protecting him by keeping quiet."

A shot of sharp, searing shame darted across the examiner's face as he sighed sadly.

"I am not protecting him Jethro, but the reason he went to that particular crime scene is-"

"Classified?" Gibbs interjected angrily, his worry for his friend's situation bringing about his trademark sarcasm. Ducky smiled a sad smile in its wake and shook his head, almost as if in a bout of melancholy.

"I am afraid that it is _he_ who is trying to protect _me_."

Before Gibbs could even open his mouth, the doctor had held up a preemptively silencing hand. "I will explain Jethro, I will. But only if I have your word, and I do mean your word, that should I ask for your assistance in...correcting, Mr Palmer, you shall give it to me? In whatever form that may take?"

Gibbs felt the whole situation unfold in a cloud of confusion. The situation was surreal, having suffered the wrath of Ducky's tongue for the very thing he was seeking aid on. Seeing the clear conflict however in his friends eyes lifted the veil of confusion, as he groaned internally at the annoying protective feelings for Jimmy that were once again beginning to stir. He locked gazes with his old friend, and nodded slowly, knowing he was making a decision that may come back to haunt him.

"You have my word."

…


	26. Small Talk

Bespectacled eyes bore into the homeowner, needlessly seeking the truth behind them. Gibbs gazed back, supremely unaffected by the scrutiny. A tension built between the old friends as Ducky pondered furiously, his brow creased along his well worn worry lines. Knowing that it was counterproductive to hurry the doctor along, Gibbs bit his tongue with difficulty. There was something clearly bothering his trusted pal and he needed to get to the bottom of it. But, as the silence propelled forwards a jot more than he could handle, he cleared his throat and peeled apart his lips.

"What is Palmer trying to protect you from, Duck?"

The smaller of the two jerked visibly at his words, so lost was he to his reverie. Sighing a thousand sighs, he threw his hands up in defeat. It was something he should have told Gibbs, who was technically his boss, a long time ago. But the longer the secret festered, the harder it was to unveil. He had cursed himself for succumbing to the ego of shame, and as he looked slowly at his old friend, he cursed himself all the more.

He cleared his throat and braced himself for the beginnings of truthfulness, and all that went with it.

"From you, Jethro," he said with profound sadness, "Jimmy… was trying to protect me from you."

The air that tickled Gibbs' tonsils as he gaped was oddly chilling. Staring mutely with wide eyes, he merely stood motionless for a moment. Whatever he had been expecting Ducky to say, it sure as hell wasn't that. Confusion engulfed him, followed by a swift bout of weariness. The girls had already taken his day's supply of patience and understanding, and as he stared at his lifetime friend, he was utterly empty. Sensing this, Ducky smiled a small smile and placed his cup gently upon the counter as Gibbs let out a bewildered "from _me?"_

Anticipation coated the walls as the two stared at each other, each finding words somewhat of a challenge. Ducky found his loquaciousness first, and braced himself for the possibility of tumultuous change.

"I must confess Jethro that I have been keeping something from you. And…after I tell you…"

He looked away for a brief moment, before locking eyes with a now pale looking Gibbs once more.

"After I tell you…you may very well be inclined and damned entitled to find yourself a new Medical Examiner."

…

A/N: I know this is short, but I need it for the way I want to do the next chapter, which will be up soon.

_Inks

….


	27. Piper Time: Part Payment

Gibbs stared and breathed and stared and breathed for a very long time. Ducky, after getting what felt like a warehouse off his chest watched with uncharacteristic nervousness as his friends nostrils widened violently. With one ear listening out for the reassuring sounds of Jimmy's breathing, the other was firmly trained on discerning the health of Gibbs' heartbeat. He winced as his agile arithmetic let him know how very vexed the younger of the two was. Before a word could be spoken, the snoring that bellowed through from the other room suddenly stopped, and a gurgling murmuring ensued. Exchanging looks that for the moment were oblivious to the truths that had just been told, each turned on their heel and strode into the living room.

Jimmy blinked rather furiously.

Before attempting to promptly nosedive off the sofa once more.

Gibbs, who had rapidly been accustomed to this trend, quickly shot out a hand and steadied the drunken lad with ease. Instead of being coerced into lying back down, Palmer shook his head violently as he took in his surroundings. He was still raving drunk, but the small bout of sleep he had taken was slightly illuminating. And he wasn't pleased with what he saw. The expression on both mens faces was rather more thunderous than the actual weather system, as they watched him sway and hiccough.

"Hi," he blurted feebly, "Gi…Gibbs and Doctor. Doctor Gibbs?"

Ducky closed his eyes wearily, much more unused to drunken bouts of speech from his underling than Gibbs was his. Acting on instinct more than anything, the former Marine gently but firmly plucked the kid off the sofa. After what he had just heard, he knew distance was key. Not even bothering to look at Ducky, he spoke as he walked, carefully propelling Palmer to the door. Throwing it open, he breathed in the crisp evening air hungrily.

"It's getting late, Duck," he murmured, holding a now silently swaying Palmer carefully, "and I still need to deal with my girls. Maybe you're right and the best thing is for you to take him home with you." He drank in some more icy air as the sun began to set over his neighbourhood. "You and I can talk tomorrow, first light."

Before the startled Doctor could respond, he had gently begun half steering, half carrying Jimmy towards Ducky's ancient car. Waiting with a chilling apathy, he said nothing as his friend crunched up the gravel to meet him. Opening the car silently, Ducky watched as Gibbs placed Palmer in the passenger side with ease, even buckling him in, before closing the door on him, where upon he promptly fell back asleep. Chewing his lip, Ducky, for the first time, didn't know what to say. Opening his mouth uncertainly, he was halted by Gibbs' silencing hand.

"Don't want to hear it tonight, Duck. I've had about as much surprises as I'm willing to take."

Sadness brimmed in the kindly Medical Examiner's eyes as he nodded softly. Creaking open the driver's door, sending Jimmy's snores into the twilight, his gaze found Gibbs'.

"Despite your feelings on such admissions, I _am_ sorry, old friend."

He didn't get a response as a terribly wearied Jethro merely stared resolutely over his head, a twitch jumping in his jaw line. Nodding to himself, Ducky clambered into his car, knowing no more could be said tonight. When he looked in the rear view mirror as the relic crunched out of the drive way, Gibbs was still standing there, staring into the distance, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He stayed that way for a long time, far longer than it took Ducky to return to his own home. As night began to cloak him, and curtains were drawn across from him, he snapped out of his reverie. He had taken the time outside, and alone, and put it to very good use. Compartmentalising was something he was getting better at.

And he knew in his gut that he could deal with Abby and Ziva now, and put all notions of Ducky and Palmer out of his head till sunrise. They were tomorrow's issue, whereas his girls, they sure as all hell were today's issue. Spinning on his heel, he marched back into his house and closed the door behind him softly. Deliberating quickly, he reached the bottom of the stairs and cleared his throat. He knew they wouldn't be far from earshot.

"You two. Down here. Now."

A slow scuttle broke out, as he walked away from the stairs and threw himself down on the sofa. Creaking footsteps let him know Abby was in the lead as the two walked slowly down the stairs, neither eager for the meeting they knew was inevitable. Gibbs felt his earlier anger return with a gusto as the sight of his guilty looking charges. Feeling his brows knit together, he pointed at the familiar spot on the floor as they edged into the room. Obeying without question, they shuffled to the perch of doom as he watched them with a narrowed gaze. It was somewhat surreal, as he looked at them in similar outfits of sweats and t-shirts, that just a few hours ago…their ensembles had been so different.

One, a pretend scientist. The other, a rouge bridesmaid.

"Do you two geniuses have any idea what you've done?"

Matching winces crossed both girls faces as they nodded slowly. Gibbs let the silence spiral for a moment, not at all concerned for their discomfort. He was royally pissed with the pair of them, but Abby…he could, for the first time, quite cheerfully strangle her. Breathing in through a pinched nose, he retook control of himself.

"What you two pulled today was nothing short of deception. Abby, you lied to my face and broke a promise to me. Ziva, you used my concern for your health against me and lied through your teeth. I'm disgusted with the pair of you. This wasn't some off the cuff decision that in hindsight was stupid. This was deliberate, sneaky and scheming." He paused to allow their discomfort to mount once more, as they looked at him with misery that would usually pierce his heart, but did little now to affect him.

"Why should I even bother, can you tell me that?" he asked icily, "Why should I bother putting my neck on the line for you two, if you're just going to throw it back in my face like this? I'm not sure if you two are aware, but every single time I save your butts from official consequences, I'm putting my own on the line. I could be fired for disciplining you like I do, if the wrong person were to know about it. Considering what you've pulled today, can you honestly tell me why I should bother? Can you tell me why I shouldn't just suspend the pair of you, report you to Vance, and have done with it?"

Two mouths fell open in tandem as equal bouts of horror splashed across the two faces.

It was rare for Gibbs to launch right into such an acidic lecture, and it was even rarer for him to ask such painful questions. Before either of them could even summon the intelligence to formulate an answer, he had pressed on.

"The obvious answer is, I shouldn't, right? I mean, to any reasonable person, your behaviour today would show that you're not to be trusted, that you're defiant and disrespectful. That I'm wasting my time and effort in trying to get through to you in ways that wont adversely affect your careers. I mean, that's the only clear answer, isn't that right?"

His face darkened, as the two stared at him wordlessly.

"I said, _isn't that right?"_

Air seemed to choke instead of aid the two detainees. Forgetting, in that moment that she was furious with her, Ziva sent Abby a desperate look. For all her hard outer shell, the idea of Gibbs giving up on her, on either of them, was appalling. She had grown to depend on his unfaltering patience far more than she would ever care to admit, and the frank manner in which he was debating pulling the plug on that patience, scared her. She didn't need to be a mind reader to know that Abby was experiencing similar sentiments.

"Gibbs," the lab rat choked, "Please…please don't say things like that. We're so sorry…it was all my fault. You have to believe me, it was all my idea. I swear it was, it was my-"

He held up a glacial hand and raised a scorching brow.

"You think I don't _know_ that it was your idea, Abigail?" he thundered with flashing eyes. "You think I am so stupid that I don't see when something has _your_ name splashed all over it. Do you really think that I'm of the belief that this was Ziva's idea, and she begged you for your help, and not the other way around?"

She paled an impossible shade of white as she shook her head slowly, too horrified to speak.

Sighing loudly, Gibbs stood. Slowly, he walked towards his two charges, who looked at him with wide eyes. Placing his hands uncharacteristically on his hips, he halted a mere foot away from the pair. "I'm not going to waste my breath on the long lecture," he declared quietly, dangerously. "I've had it with wasting my breath with you two, and I've _especially_ had it with wasting my breath on you miss," he added, shooting a deathly glare in Abby's direction. Taking in another deep breath, he willed the night to be at an end, all the while knowing that the end was a long, long way off.

"You two disgraced me today, and you disgraced yourselves. You placed your jobs, my job and the boys' jobs on the line. I am beyond disgusted with you. That you would do something so selfish, and so stupid, when our unit is under scrutiny for budget cuts, frankly blows my mind. So that is why I'm giving you a choice. You can decide to accept my punishment, which by the way, I'm still in two minds about even bothering to offer. Or, you can go down the official route. I'm giving you the option because you should know that if you choose the usual option…" He trailed off as a fire, controlled, but crackling nonetheless, blazed in his eyes.

"If you choose the usual option, then you two are in for the spanking of a lifetime."

The starkest of stark silences greeted his words, as both Ziva's and Abby's hearts pounded painfully. They had seen Gibbs furious before, and they had seen him disappointed before. But this had to be the most furiously disappointed he'd ever been with them. Regret coursed through them like molten magma, as they glanced at each other out of the corner's of their eye. Each girl's decision was evident to the other immediately, as they turned in tandem to face Gibbs once more.

"Usual option."

The two, simple words were uttered in unison. There was no hesitation in either's decision, and to some extent, their clear choice mollified their irate boss. But not by much. Nodding slowly, Gibbs thought rapidly. A choice was forming in his mind, and it wasn't one he made lightly. It wasn't one, no matter how angry he was, that he made in temper. Chewing internally for a moment, he knew it had to be done. The next time, they mightn't be so lucky. He had to do all in his power to drive the lesson home to a degree that there wouldn't be a next time.

And unpleasant as it was, he wasn't about to risk their jobs. No matter how much he blustered about reporting to Vance or anything of that ilk. He was a skilled actor in his own right, and he knew they believed him when he threatened it, but that's all it was really. A threat… and an idle one at that. No matter how infuriating they were, Ziva and Abby…were still his girls, and that was that.

Drawing in a deep breath, Gibbs moulded his decision into iron.

Turning to Abby, his gaze was once again glacial.

"You, young lady, disappoint me more than I can tell you. I've had more than one conversation with you in the past about using the affections of the team for you, to your own end. I've punished you for it before, and foolishly, I thought that was the end of it. You do not get to have your own way, every single day of the week. I said no to the wedding, and you gave me lip. I called you on it, and you apologised and gave me your word that you would drop it."

He paused to increase his terrifying stare.

"You didn't keep your word. You schemed, and you manipulated. You dragged Ziva into your web of lies, and for that, I am more disappointed in you than you can know. I'm going to hold Ziva accountable for her own actions, but do you admit that but for your selfishness, stubbornness and disobedience…she wouldn't be where she is right now?"

Abby's lower lip trembled as he rebuked her fiercely and as guilt bubbled inside her. Not trusting herself to speak, she shot a look of frenzied apology to the girl she thought of as a sister, before nodding mutely. Biting her lip, she fought to keep the tears at bay as his reprimand began to sink into her skin. He stared at her intently for a moment, before nodding, as if to himself. His sigh was loud and sudden, and both girls were startled by it as he rubbed his hand across his eyes.

"Alright, Ziva…you're up first."

Silence greeted his words as they hung in the air. Feeling her gut clench painfully, but resolving to remain as calm as possible, Ziva nodded quietly. She had no argument to give in her defence. Sure, Abby had needled and manipulated her, but she could and should have said no. She knew better than to go along with something so deceptive and plainly stupid, and she did it anyway. There was no excuse, and she would not insult the man who had done so much for her by making one up.

Abby felt guilt slither up and down her windpipe like a serpent. She knew she couldn't stop Gibbs spanking Ziva, and she knew it was all her fault. She felt poisonous as her friend's sentence was handed down and helpless because there was nothing she could do to make it right. Shuffling awkwardly, she pointed towards the stairs jerkily. "I guess I'll just umm…wait upstairs then."

Gibbs closed his eyes, his molten iron decision coming to the fore.

"Oh no you won't madam," he contradicted quietly, halting Abby in her very steps. Confusion lapped her as he started towards her, as did it Ziva. Gibbs had just said she was getting it first, right? She watched silently as their boss took a firm, but cautious hold over the Goth's upper arm. He didn't speak as he propelled her into the all too familiar corner of the living room.

They had all been there.

Planting the scientist nose first into the crevice, Gibbs maintained his hold on her arm as he used his other hand to reach back and dish out three firm swats upon her backside. Over her surprised squeak, he spoke loudly enough for both girls to hear. "I told you, I've had it with your manipulation of the others. You're going to stand here, and hear first hand just what that manipulation brings about. The spanking Ziva's going to get… is her fault. But it's your fault too, you share the blame. Maybe having to listen to the consequences of your actions, that the others have to suffer, will finally put an end to your self absorbed behaviour."

He released his hold on her arm, and stepped back.

"You do not turn around under any circumstances. You do not make a sound, under any circumstances. You will stand there silently, until I tell you to do otherwise. I don't want to hear a single word of complaint out of you, or you'll be sorry. This is the first, and it sure as hell had better be the last time I have to do this. I don't like doing this, I hate it. But I will, and I am."

He took another step back, as her horrified expression seemed to seep into the wall she was facing.

"Is all of that very clear to you?"

Abby couldn't stop the tears that spilled out of her eyes as she nodded with raw misery. A sob threatened to tear from her throat, as she swallowed it painfully down. Gibbs had spoken so many hard truths in such a short time she felt under siege. Knowing she couldn't answer verbally, she gave a constricted nod, before training her gaze on the milky white wall in front of her. Feeling the first puncture of sadness, Gibbs did his best to seal his heart. "Hands on your head," he muttered lowly, turning away, "And no turning around, no matter what."

Seeing her obey him in the corner of his eye, he took a deep breath in as he turned to faze Ziva.

"When you and I are done, you're going to take the exact same place in that corner as Abby gets her spanking. Is that clear?"

She looked at him silently and steadily for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Yes Gibbs."

Relief that there was to be no battle coated him as he walked forwards at her answer. Taking the same grasp on her upper arm as he'd done his older girl, he steered her carefully towards the sofa. Sitting down, he transferred his hold from her arm to her wrist, and looked up at her with an odd expression on his face. Clearing his throat, it was gone, being replaced by that steely determination they all knew and dreaded.

"I hope you took the time up there to sit Ziva, because when I'm through with you, sitting will be just a memory."

….

TBC: New chapter up soon. For those asking about The A Team, I have to admit I hate the way it's turned out or something, hence the lack of an update on it. I never leave a story unfinished, so I will finish it, but it may take some time.

_Inks

…


	28. Piper Time: Account in Payment

There was no time wasted. The moment the last syllable had poured from Gibbs' mouth he had smartly pulled Ziva down across his knee. Generally, when he had cause to spank either of his girls, he merely laid them over both his knees. More rarely, when he had serious cause to spank either of his girls, he laid them over one of his knees, using his free leg to lock theirs into place, ensuring minimum squirming. So when Ziva felt herself be fastened securely across a singular knee, she truly knew her butt was in for it. She closed her eyes as her boss' arm wrapped very firmly around her waist, practically feeling his ire vibrate through his shirt.

As accustomed to the sharp sting of Gibbs' hand as she was, her eyes flew open in surprise at the first swat. It burned, it had a truly burning reach. Before she could even process it, with a slight hiss, the second had fallen and the third. Hastily biting her lip, she sunk further into the couch, reminded horribly of the punishment she'd received for, in a fit of anger, cursing at the man whose knee she was over. He had really tanned her then, and as his hand came down once more, she knew it was re-enactment time. Misery dogged her as she fully realised that Abby could hear every smack that came down on her behind, and that she would hear her cries when she could no longer hold onto them.

By the warm glow already blossoming across her cheeks, she knew that wouldn't take long.

Gibbs gritted his teeth. He rarely spanked with such force, but this time was one of those times he needed to truly redden an errant backside. Holding Ziva firmly in place, he put his leathery hands to extremely good use. Years of working with wood had toughened his palms to the extent that the only sting to be felt when he dished out a punishment was where it was meant to be felt. On one of his fours butts. His own hand was long since past feeling any sting himself from crashing his hand down over and over again. Knowing he was being as hard as nails, he purposely concentrated on one area for a prolonged period of time, lighting a scorching fire here before moving on. He let his hand fall into a steady rhythm, he would need it.

This was going to be a long one.

Burning shame filled Abby as she stood stock still, her hands on her head, her arms already beginning to ache with the strain. Every swat that landed on Ziva's behind seemed to echo with a phantom pain in her own. Guilt consumed her as the sounds of the spanking echoed around the room. Never, ever before had Gibbs made her do this, and never ever before could she remember feeling so guilty. Ziva had to be in pain already, the cracks of Gibbs' hand sounded fierce and unyielding. Her friend shouldn't be here, over their boss' knee. She should be the only one in that position, Ziva should be happy, at home or doing whatever Ziva-ish things she did. But because of her and her selfishness, the girl she thought of as a sister was getting her butt ripped up by one angry as hell team-lead.

Tears threatened to prick Abby's eyes, but she blinked them back.

She deserved this. Gibbs was right, she was manipulative. She thought she had learned her lesson the last time, but clearly she hadn't. This listening to a spanking was far worse than receiving one. The wall seemed to mock her as she stared miserably at it, the crashing of Gibbs' hand like a non-stop record hammering in the back of her head. She wished she could intervene, to go and wrest Ziva from his grip and take her place. But she knew that would only make matters worse, and so she stood and listened, and before long, despite her intentions….cried.

The warm hand that was firmly tucked around her waist suddenly left, as did the hand assailing her behind. Drinking in the breathing space that she knew was as transient as a rainbow, Ziva blinked rapidly. Her butt was already ablaze and to her intense horror, her eyes were moistening with threatening tears. It had been a long time since Gibbs had spanked her so thoroughly and so rapidly in such a short space of time. She had known he'd meant business, but the absolute burn in her behind was something she desperately wanted to bolt from.

"Stand."

Her eyes closed in misery, yet she knew it was inevitable. Feeling her legs being released she stood slowly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, careful not to look in the direction of Abby's back. Even with her strong demeanour, it took everything she had not reach back and rub vigorously at her smarting backside. She knew he was waiting for eye contact, and so she pulled her dark eyes from the floor with difficulty and looked slowly down at him. His face was impassive, as he quirked a brow in her direction.

"Why am I spanking you right now?"

Her stomach plummeted. It had also been a very long time since he'd done this, and with horror she realised the last time had been the swearing incident, when she had sworn never to provoke it again. Despite herself, she cast a pleading glance in his direction, but he was definitely not to be swayed. Clearing his throat, he shot her one of his looks.

"If I have to ask you again, I'm going to put you back over my knee and start from scratch."

Ziva hastily peeled her lips apart.

"Because I lied to you and deceived the agency, putting all of our jobs on the line." Her answer was brief, but measured, and it met with the requisite approval as Gibbs nodded his head slowly. He rarely did this, and he hated doing it, but this was a lesson that required adhesive and he was the one that had to provide it.

"And why is that not something I'm not going to put up with?"

She squirmed, unusually for her, and shot him another pleading look.

The brow was back.

"Did you forget what I just said about starting from scratch? Because I meant it, and if there's something you pair need re-educating on, it's that I mean what I say. So, for the second and last time, why is that something I'm not going to put up with?" He glanced at his watch and back at her. "Five seconds…"

She gaped.

He frowned.

"Four seconds…"

"Because," she blurted, "lying is never tolerated, we have to be able to trust each other, our lives in the field depend on it." She drew in a sharp breath hoping the much drummed in lesson was the correct answer, and apparently, it was. Nodding quietly, Gibbs scrubbed a hand across his eyes as weariness threatened to overtake him.

"Haven't I taught you a lesson about lying before? Recently in fact?"

Biting her lip, Ziva nodded slowly. She hadn't looked at soap the same way since she had been taught that lesson and images of it danced in her mind's eye as she gulped. Hoping against hope that wasn't going to be repeat educational experience, she nodded silently. "Slipped your mind did it?" Gibbs replied quietly, "Or did I just make an insufficient impression on you?"

Tousled locks of dark hair flew wildly as Ziva shook her head with vigour.

Sighing, Gibbs rubbed a hand through his hair and gestured at her sweats. "Get them down and get your butt back over my knee. I've only just started with you." Looking deliberately away to give her privacy, though her long t-shirt made it sort of unnecessary, he waited while she made the directed adjustments. He felt her by his side when she was ready and wasted no time in carefully tugging her back across his knee. Glancing down, Gibbs sighed as he made the decision to tug her panties down just far enough to get the job done. Her backside was already scarlet as he knew it would be. Fastening his arm around her waist once more, he didn't have time to blink an eye before his hand came down as if there had been no interruption.

The smacks rang through the room, causing Ziva to whimper, Gibbs to wince and Abby to festoon in her own guilt. Tough though she was, the spanking recipient couldn't help the salty tears that burst from her eyes as a particularly firm flurry of swats besieged her already chastised sit spots. She couldn't squirm even if she wanted to and a feeling of complete misery overtook her as she gave way sobbing far earlier than she usually would. Feeling his youngest heave with tears as his hand continued to redden her rear end, Gibbs felt misery of his own pierce his veil of anger. Glancing over at Abby, who for her the good of all concerned hadn't interrupted, he could tell she was also crying.

Willing himself to just get through tonight, he felt another truckload of weariness hit him.

Ducky.

He pushed that far from his mind as he concentrated on painting a deeper shade of red across his youngest's backside. He hadn't lied when he had given them their options, he'd every intention of making this a punishment neither would forget. He was spanking hard and he was spanking long, his arm being put through a strenuous workout. That being the way of things, he was still careful not to overdo it. He was a big believer in letting the punishment fit the crime, and as he ensured that not one area of Ziva's upturned butt escaped his firm hand, he knew it had.

For now.

Stalling his hand, he transferred it to the small of her back and rubbed it gently. He truly wished he was done with her, but he wasn't. Usually reserving comfort until after a punishment was concluded, he found he had to break tradition. The sounds of Ziva's crying tore at him as he carefully righted her clothing and peeled her up from his lap. Standing up and standing her in front of him, he tilted her red face towards him, wiping away the tears from her eyes with his thumb.

"We're not done yet, but we're done for now," he said quietly, beginning to hate himself, "I need you to trade places with Abby now. The same rules apply to you, hands on your head and no turning around or speaking. Do you understand me?"

Eyes watering further at the declaration of incompleteness, Ziva managed to nod wearily.

Draping an arm around her shoulders, Gibbs tugged her tight to him as he guided her across the floor. She breathed in his woody scent mixed with old fashioned aftershave and relaxed against him slightly, despite her still flowing tears and torn up backside. Halting as they reached Abby's quivering frame, Gibbs dropped a quick kiss on Ziva's tangled mop of hair before removing his arm. Placing a careful hold on Abby's upper arm, he gently tugged her out of the corner without a word, and she didn't fight him. Releasing her, he used his freed arm to guide Ziva into Abby's place.

She put her hands on her head with a noisy gulp without needing to be told twice and faced the wall.

The warning swat Gibbs had planned to give her to reinforce the no talking or looking lesson died.

There was no need.

Turning back to Abby, he wasn't surprised. Her face was tear streaked as she looked at her friend with guilt splashed across her face. As tough as the lesson was for both of them, Gibbs knew he was doing the right thing in punishing them together. Taking a hold of Abby's wrist, he walked back across the way he had taken with Ziva, and once again sat in the same spot on the sofa. Pulling Abby carefully to stand in front of him, he quirked a brow in her direction, letting his disappointment freely colour his face.

"Your turn madam," he said softly, "but you can forget about the warm up Ziva got."

He gestured to Abby's similar sweats, before again turning unnecessarily away given her baggy shirt.

"Get them down."

He rubbed his eyes wearily as he could feel, without seeing, the wounded look boring into him.

"Now."

….

A/N: Next chapter will deal with both Abby and Ducky I think.

_Inks.

…


	29. Account Settled

"Did I stutter?" Gibbs asked coolly as his order was nervously ignored. "Or are you still labouring under this delusion that the rules don't apply to you the way they do to Ziva and the boys?" He gestured towards her sweats yet again before turning away, his face setting into a grim line. "Get them down. I won't ask again, I assure you." Ziva, who couldn't see the two, felt her stomach drop. Surely…surely Abby wasn't going to make matters even worse for herself. She surely wouldn't be so stupid as to push Gibbs even further then he had been, which was a lot further than she'd seen in a long time.

The coolness of his tone wounded Abby as tears began to shine in her eyes. He never spoke to her like that, ever. Biting her lip as he resolutely stared away; she gulped and began fumbling with the drawstring of her faded sweats. She'd been spanked by the man far more times than she cared to remember, but he was never this…un Gibbs-ish. She let her sweats fall slowly, her t-shirt nearly past her knees easily protecting her modesty and swallowed hard. "Uhh…" She didn't get to finish that thought as Gibbs turned back to her and smartly took her by the wrist and draped her over his knee. Like with Ziva, she instantly knew when he placed her over one knee, pinning her into place that it was going to be bad.

But she didn't realise how bad.

Squeaking despite herself, she felt her eyes widen as her panties were tugged swiftly down, just enough as was necessary. He never did that, ever. She knew he said she wasn't getting the same warm-up as Ziva, but she didn't think he was _that_ serious about it. As if anticipating her protest, Gibbs spoke lowly in a tone that most certainly didn't brook any argument. "I don't want to hear it. I've allowed you far too much leeway and it stops now. You're going to get the punishment you deserve and I'm not about to hear any word of complaint, right?"

As the arm circled around her waist with a horrifying firmness, Abby knew the answer.

"Yes Gibbs."

The last syllable had just left her when his hand cracked down for the first time. Her already wide eyes, hidden in her buried arms grew wider. The combination of the force he was using, the horrendously early loss of protection and the anger she could still feel from him made her heart sink. She didn't have time to dwell on it however as the hand landed for a second time, directly across from the first one. Tears instantly sprang up once more in her eyes. She didn't even care to try and take it like a woman. He was spanking so hard and so soon that she couldn't help the hiss that escaped her as he fell into a regular rhythm. He was methodical but speedy as he worked to splash coats of red across her unprotected rear with impunity.

Ziva chewed her lip in the corner. Her own backside was still smarting terribly and the last tear was still glistening on her face. But she would do it all again if she could trade places with Abby. This _listening_ was terrible. It sounded like a bulldozer meeting its mark when Gibbs' hand collided with the lab rat's butt. She was quite sure he hadn't spanked her as hard as he was Abby, which was mind boggling. Even though she was the brains of this latest stunt, he was never anything but gentle with his favourite. But as she heard Abby's yelping that had quickly morphed from intermittent to consistent, she knew that this was different. Gibbs had really had enough.

He knew he was being a truckload harder on his eldest girl that he usually would be, or perhaps had ever been, but that didn't stay his hand. The exasperated team-lead had really had his fill of the manipulation and the disobedience and he was determined to make an impression. He knew Abby didn't mean any malice or conniving in her actions, and that she let her heart run away with her brain, but still. He couldn't have it anymore. What she had organised could have bottom blasted his team right into the unemployment market, and she was so impulsive, that fact had gone sailing over her head. Sighing slightly, he lowered his hand and raised his knee simultaneously. Abby's butt was already a crimson red, but he wasn't finished.

The first sob tore from her throat when he began leathering her sit spots. They'd already been well spanked, but apparently that wasn't good enough this time. Tears poured down Abby's face with gusto as she lost the will to squirm. She couldn't really anyway, he held her too tight. Lying limply across his knee, she merely wept as he tanned her most tender skin without a word. She knew in her gut that the metal stools in her lab were off limits for the foreseeable future. Her sobs were loud as he started another volley of fast but desperately firm swats all over her scorched behind.

And then, it was over.

The swats stopped coming.

The hand that had held her so tightly as she was punished was removed, and her legs freed. There was a small and gentle rubbing at her back, but there were no soothing words. Despite the haze of tears and pain, Abby knew that meant something, and that something was a bad something. When the voice did speak, it still carried that undercurrent of ire, but it was at least, slightly softer. "Up you get now, come on…" She felt herself be gently pulled to her feet, as she sniffed through her tears to pull her clothing back up. "Don't bother," Gibbs interjected quietly, as he guided her forwards slightly, "I'm not done with you yet."

Abby's heart instantly landed in the deepest depths of Narnia.

Placing his arm around her shoulders, her t-shirt once again providing privacy, Gibbs walked Abby three steps forward and stopped. She blinked at him in confusion. They were standing behind his low to the ground sofa; the one that Tony routinely hollered was "his spot." Turning her to face the back of the couch, Gibbs arched a brow. "Wait here." Before she could utter a confused word, he had turned his back to her and was striding towards a stiff looking Ziva. Taking her out of the corner gently, he led her without a word to where Abby stood, tears still streaming freely down her face as she didn't dare to reach back and rub. The two girls shot each other looks of pure misery as Gibbs pointed seriously to the back of the sofa and sighed. They watched in horror as he reached between the cushions and extracted an obviously pre-planted but unknown, small but solid wooden paddle.

"Over."

The two looked at him wide eyed. They had never once been paddled by Gibbs, no matter how much he threatened it. Ziva's mind worked quickly and she rapidly picked up on a lengthy complaint Tony had made after an appointment with a much described paddle that looked exactly like the one Gibbs held. Seeing the non-compliance, Gibbs felt a cloak of weariness engulf him. "I told you, didn't I? I warned you that if you chose these consequences, it would be a spanking of a lifetime. You know full well I don't make promises I don't keep. You two need a lesson you're not going to forget in a week, or in a month, or whenever you feel like it." He tapped the paddle against his hand and raised a brow. "So, for the second and last time, get your butts over that sofa."

Ziva and Abby stared, rooted to the spot, their eyes fixated on the ominously well worn paddle.

Gibbs sighed.

Letting the paddle rest on the cushions, he quickly but carefully reached Abby first. Guiding her by the shoulders, he gently turned and placed her over the sofa. She stiffened but otherwise complied as he quietly told her to hang on to the seating cushions. Turning to Ziva, who was still staring in muted horror, he swallowed another sigh. Giving her the exact same treatment as Abby, relief pricked him when she didn't fight it. The two were evenly spaced apart, giving him standing room. Misery dogged him as he pulled back Abby's t-shirt, folding it neatly on her back. It dogged him further as he sidestepped back to Ziva, and returned her sweats to their previously lowered state.

Stepping back he picked up the paddle to the background of slight whimpering and realised why he'd never done this with the girls before. It hurt. Cliché as it might be, he knew what he was about to do was going to say with him a lot longer than it would them. Starting with Abby, he bit his lip as he tapped the small but efficient paddle against her ruby red backside. He'd done a very thorough job with his hand, but it required reinforcement. Knowing that to delay things would make it all so much worse for three of them; he placed a restraining hand on the small of her back, a hand much more used to the small of the boys' backs. The thwack of the first lick seemed alien to him as his heart sank. His anger that was controlled but had served him well up to this point was leaving him now, and he desperately wanted it to be over.

Her answering cry of pain produced a lump in his throat that he tried valiantly to swallow down. He brought the paddle down five more times in rapid and forceful succession before removing his hand and stepping away. Sidestepping to Ziva, he glanced down to see that his younger girl had reached out and grabbed the hand of his elder one as he'd punished her. The lump in his throat grew larger as he placed a similarly restraining hand on Ziva's back. Her six swats were quick but they were as thorough as Abby's and her answering yelp of pain was just as hard to take. Closing his eyes, he leaned down to her as he rubbed her back and told her it was over. Moving back to Abby, using the last of their privacy before Ziva stood; he landed three more hard licks on her roasted rump before leaning down and telling her the same thing.

Leaving the paddle between the two of them, he turned on his heel into the kitchen. Leaning over the counter and taking in deep breaths, he splashed ice cold tap water across his face. That was without doubt, one of the hardest punishments he'd ever had to give, and he knew the sick feeling in his gut wasn't going to go away for a while. Drying his face, he grabbed two bottled waters from the fridge, and figuring they'd had enough time and privacy to right their clothing, returned to the living room. The sight of and sounds of Abby lowly but sincerely as all hell apologising to Ziva greeted him. As too did the tight hug Ziva pulled Abby into as she murmured quietly into her ear.

Clearing his throat after they'd released one another, Gibbs walked slowly into the room as they turned to him. Handing them both a water, he kept his own emotions carefully of his face as they drank noisily, the last of their tears glistening on their faces. Picking up the paddle and seeing the look on their faces, he shook his head in reassurance as he moved to stand in front of them. "No, we're done," he assured quietly, "But I need you to listen to me for another minute or so ok?" He waited as they nodded slowly, tears still in their eyes, though unshed.

"Firstly, you need to know that if you ever pull a stunt even remotely like this again…I will give you that exact same spanking once a week for a month, and I'm not joking. Do you understand me?"

Two flushed and tear stained faces nodded back to him in understanding.

They knew he wasn't joking.

"Secondly, you will both apologise to the boys for the danger you put their jobs in. You will also realise that this," he gestured around his house, "Is prison until I say otherwise. No parties, no friends, no fun…nothing. Just work and home. Is that clear?"

That was pretty much a foregone conclusion, so despite their increased misery, both nodded mutely.

"Thirdly, and this is the most important point," Gibbs continued, as he threw the paddle down out of his hands. "As angry as I was with you pair, you both took your punishment very well and I'm very proud of you. I know you didn't mean any actual harm by your actions, but you both…" he focussed his gaze on Abby, who nodded her understanding, "Need to think before you act in future. I never, and I mean this….I _never_ want to have to use that paddle with either of you again, ok?"

He swallowed, the lump still present, before saying a word that had both girls eyebrows shooting up.

"Please?"

They stared at him for a moment, their jaws slightly ajar, the pain in their butts slightly muted by the shock. He stared back at them, unusually unperturbed by his openness, fighting the lump that seemed to grow bigger the longer he looked at their tear stained faces. He always hated punishing any of his four with more than a look, or a stern word or a headslap. He hated it. But today…had been even worse than he'd imagined, the pressing sphere on his windpipe not letting him forget it. He grew uneasy when they didn't answer him, but merely exchanged looks with each other. About to open his mouth, and say…well he wasn't sure, they beat him to it.

He blinked rapidly as his lungs screamed in protest.

Abby had his right lung in a frenzy as she wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, burying her face into it. Ziva had a grip on his left lung, which was naturally a lot stronger than the stranglehold Abby held. Her head was also buried into his chest, well, what little room Abby left that was. Recovering quickly, Gibbs felt the lump disintegrate as he drew his arms up to wrap around the pair, pressing a kiss to the top of each of their heads. The three stayed like that for quite a while, aware that it had been an usually charged day, finding comfort in each other, something Ziva was rapidly getting better at.

Eventually breaking away, Gibbs felt the warmth of their embrace stay with him, as he looked at the two who were looking much less miserable. He again opened his mouth to say something he didn't know, but was again beaten to it. "We don't hate you, we'd never hate you," Abby announced quietly, her voice still throaty; "Yes…we do not, nor would we," Ziva added softly, her brown eyes full of honesty. Gibbs stared for a moment, floored by their ability to probe his soul, before shaking his head with a small, crooked smile.

"Pfft, you got what you had coming. Like I even _care_ if you hate me for it. Please."

Small traces of the usual mischievous smirks flitted across both girls faces as they saw straight through the bluster. "Sure thing," Abby drawled as Ziva laughed lowly in the background. Sighing as he realised he was fighting a losing battle, Gibbs muttered a chagrined "Whatever. Even Tony is so much easier than you pair." Ziva's gentle laugher blew into a raucous giggle that Abby instantly emanated, and Gibbs knew he had made a fatal error.

"What?" he demanded, hiding the outrageous happiness he felt upon hearing their laugher, "What now?"

Side stepping him in tandem and heading towards the kitchen where he just knew they were going to make some god awful creation, before forcing him to watch something equally heinous, they continued laughing. Watching them go with narrowed eyes, he raised a brow. "Hey, I said what now?" Their chuckling grew louder as they loitered in the door way, their eyes alight with an odd mixture of tears and mirth, clearly thinking the same thing.

"Well…" Ziva murmured devilishly, "Just wait until we tell Tony that _you_ said he was your favourite. He will be positively thrilled, no?" Gibbs' heart instantly sank as Abby's peals of laughter soared upwards. "He'll never let you hear the end of it," she spluttered, "Can we ring him now?" She glanced towards Ziva who was vigorously rubbing her butt, and nodding her head. Gibbs felt a migraine coming on as he shook his head vigorously.

"I will kill you," he threatened lowly, "I will-"

The doorbell cut him off.

Departing to answer it with a last warning gaze that only sent the girls into further splutters, Gibbs sighed and hid a small smile at the sounds of it. He realised he'd locked the door for certain reasons as he explained the unusual ringing of the doorbell to himself. Throwing it open, he knew instantly that the God's were against him as Tony leaned in the doorway, his arms folded. Labouring under several pizza boxes beside him was Tim, who offered a muffled "hey Boss," over the tops of the steaming food.

"Boss, your door is locked and we know something is going on with Abby and Ziva and we were just doing our duties in making sure you didn't kill them." Smartly side stepping a weary Gibbs into the house, as Tim mirrored his movements to the left, Tony caught sight of the girls in the kitchen. He could instantly tell they'd had a…discussion, and instantly resolved to cheer them up. Grabbing the boxes out of an equally minded Tim, they both sent gentle smiles in their direction.

"We got both of yours' favourite. What are we watching?"

Closing the front door, Gibbs grew even more wearied when the two bounced in from the kitchen and accepted their pizzas gratefully. As the four settled into the sitting room, Ziva and Abby more slowly, and on cushions, which the boys didn't comment on, he found himself smiling despite himself. That was of course until Ziva shot a devilish glance in his direction, and nudged Abby in the ribs.

"Tony?"

Mouthful of pizza and remote in hand, DiNozzo tipped back his head and raised a brow. "Uh huh?" Ziva and Abby spluttered over food and laugher as Gibbs' groan nearly drowned out their in unison _"We've got something to tell you."_ Before they could open their mouths, the team-lead had promptly thrown himself on the seat between them, sending them an unusually pleading come playful look. His "Please don't do this to me, I'll never live through it," was so quiet only they could hear, and shooting each other expressive looks they grinned in tandem.

"Nothing," Abby informed a patiently waiting Tony, "Only that we're _not_ watching anything in black and white."

Shrugging at her galling lack of sophistication, he turned back to his argument with Tim, ignoring the other three in their wars. Sighing gratefully, Gibbs draped a shoulder over each girl beside him and smiled when they leaned contentedly against him. Squeezing them gently, he felt truly relaxed for the first time that evening as he spoke quietly to them.

"That's my girls."

…..

A/N: Decided to keep the conclusion of the girls' storyline and the conclusion of Ducky's separate. Fan, you're right! It would have been too long or disjointed a chapter. Thanks for your feedback, as always, it's truly appreciated! Just to let you know, it won't be the same kind of corporal resolution between Ducky and Gibbs as between Gibbs and co, as I'd just find that really weird! I'll think of something else!

A/N(2): Generally, I always seem to have a long WIP NCIS fic. Though this is the longest I've done I think. I was just looking for your opinions as to whether you'd rather this one came to an end and maybe a new one started down the line somewhere, or to have this one just continue, alternating between all the characters/different storylines etc? *Unsure author alert*

….


	30. Ducky's Big Secret

Gibbs leant against the shining metal of the autopsy table, and folded his arms across his chest. Ducky leant against the table directly opposite, but didn't fold his arms across his chest. He had long since considered such a bodily movement to have overtones of aggression and defensiveness, but he wisely held his counsel on such matters now. Silence billowed between the two old friends as incredulity began to foam like a rising tide within Gibbs. He waited for as long as he could for the man to start talking, for he had been summonsed for such, but the silence stretched. Eventually he had no choice but to clear his throat.

"Honestly Duck," he shrugged, "Just tell me. What do you think I'm going to do, have you dragged from the building." He snorted. "This is me we're talking about, me. So would you please do me a favour and spit out whatever it is you need to spit out so I can go and get some damned coffee." The rather pale ME sighed, and gestured at the familiar cup in Gibbs' hand. "You already have coffee, Jethro," he murmured almost distractedly, "And I thought I had sufficiently impressed upon you the strains you are placing upon your body with this caffeine intake?"

Gibbs swilled some brown heaven down his throat and raised a brow.

"I'm nearly out, and I'll take the strains just fine." He placed the coffee on the table behind him and sighed. "C'mon Duck, let's be having it. You're not exactly…" he threw his arm to the ceiling to indicate the levels above, "One of my four. You don't really have anything to worry about. So would you just tell me so I can go?"He shrugged. "Or, if you don't want to tell me, then don't. If there's something I can help with, then I want to know. But if it's something your conscience is wailing over, then I'm not really your guy." In another time, Gibbs may have been more patient. But he was positively worn out from the day he'd had with his girls yesterday, and he really wasn't in the mood to be any form of bad guy.

Especially with a guy that he actually looked up to, precious few that there had ever been.

Ducky swiped a hand across a rather damp brow.

"Jethro," he hedged slowly, "I appreciate our relationship is more unique than that of any comparable duo. And that's a marvellous thing, truly. But the black and white nature of the situation is that there is a chain of command in this noble agency. In our chain of command, you are at the top and I, frankly, am not. Would you agree with that statement?" Brows were raised as Gibbs reached back for his coffee remnants. "Well, technically yeah," he shrugged, before smiling ruefully. "But it's not really the done thing around here is it? We both know who's really the boss in this scenario."

Ducky inclined his head with a small smile at the hidden praise and respect.

"I'm touched, Jethro. Truly. But," he continued on stubbornly, "At the end of the day, you are my superior in this situation. And rightly or wrongly, the misdeeds of ones subordinates become the misdeeds of the commanding officer, of sorts. Am I right? In the way that the many escapades of young Anthony for example, have no doubt caused you an endless headache?" Gibbs snorted into his coffee and nodded. His more pressing migraines were close to becoming dubbed _The DiNozzo_. "True," Gibbs conceded with a wry grin, "But, aging well though you might be…you're hardly comparing yourself to Tony right now?"

Ducky smiled nostalgically.

"I confess, I've never truly had young Anthony's good looks, but one does the best with one's hand. But that is not the point I am trying to make, Jethro. The point that I am trying to make it, that regardless of our personal relationship, professionally, I owe you a degree of honesty. Would you agree?"

Gibbs raised a brow. He couldn't really argue that point.

"I would."

Ducky nodded deeply. "Well then, in order to keep matters as brief as possible for I know you are not a man to indulge in social niceties, I am going to just come right out and say it. I have not been honest with you, I have not fulfilled either my professional or personal duty to you, and I have quite frankly been lying to you for quite some time, Jethro."

Gibbs said nothing. Absolutely nothing. Merely arching a brow to encourage a more detailed accounting.

"I'm afraid that if I am to be completely honest, I really never had any intention of bringing this to your attention. If it hadn't been for the actions of young Mr Palmer, we would most likely not be having this conversation. But, here we are and here it is." Ducky took a wildly steadying breath. "In my earlier days here, perhaps in my fourth or fifth year of service, I am ashamed to admit that I caved into blackmail. By doing so, I did…certain things that I will carry the shame of for the rest of my days on this planet." He took another breath, his glasses fogging up with nostalgic regret as he stared uncharacteristically down at the floor in shame.

"You know my mother…had been in rather poor health, mentally and physically for over a decade now. She lived in the beautiful manor with her beloved dogs and the odd servant here and there, the epitome of old money if you will." He stared down at the floor with a rather alarming intensity as he continued. "But the old walls of that house hid the truth. The financial ruination. I wasn't…at the time I was quite, myself I mean, poor. ME's are not exactly the most well paid in the profession. Mother's health insurance had lapsed, because I…" His eyes closed briefly in sheer shame. "I neglected to renew it with payment. I forgot, Jethro. I made a careless, selfish error. At the time, mother was in reasonable health, and I continued about my way, not knowing that the cover was gone. Not knowing that mother had thrown the reminder letters out in the rubbish, thinking them the blasted junk mail she despises."

He heaved a heavy sigh.

"A year or so later, mother's…quirks, were diagnosed as Alzheimer's, quite a rapid progression. She needed the best care, but why fret? We had the best insurance. Alas, as these things transpire, the insurance carrier laughed me out the door when I realised my error and begged their pardon. Mother's medical bills, extensive bills Jethro, then became my bills. The estate and the manor, were her home. I couldn't possibly sell it from underneath her in her golden years. I couldn't do it. But we needed money, serious money, and my fledgling salary here just wasn't going to cut it."

Gibbs stared as one would at a car crash, unable to tear his eyes away.

"I was desperate, Jethro," Ducky continued, speaking to the floor. "I was utterly desperate. Mother was growing more and more dependant, and I was growing more and more destitute. Soon I was unable to pay for the simple things, utilities and what have you. Soon the bank notices were fluttering through my door like light, ticking time bombs. Mother's medication alone…never mind the hospitalisations…" he shook his head, "I was bankrupt maybe a month later. You remember I told you I returned home to care for her? I did, in a way. But my home was also no longer mine, as these things tend to be, when you can no longer pay for them…"

Silence settled for the most minute of moments before the rather wavering voice started once more.

"And then, along came the Minuchi autopsy."

Gibbs suddenly felt a cloak of horror descend from heaven itself and strangle him.

Ducky, with an almost superhuman effort forced himself to raise his head. He had hoped this moment would never come, foolishly in hindsight, but fervently all the same. But now that it had he owed his old friend the decency of looking him in the eye. He thought he saw a faint glimmer of understanding in the blue eyes, nestled in a small crook of disbelief. He instantly saw the need, the want, to be disabused of the notion that was forming in the mind. Sadly, he could not. And he would not.

"You remember, I take it? The shooting dead of a corrupt and abusive and yet very high ranking Naval officer? There were murmurings of gang activity. The deceased being the only one of his family to not go into the drug and trafficking trade, hidden behind the respectable veneer of a restaurant chain. Gang activity or not, the man was a Navy officer and therefore his death fell squarely in our lap. The FBI was desperate to take jurisdiction, or even a joint investigation. They sought to launch a RICO investigation into the Cardello gang that had allegedly shot the officer. They needed the bullet and they needed the bullet to be the trademark choice of the suspected gang. Apparently, the criminal organisation in question only used one type, a very rare type at that. It would have been a significant aid to their investigation, should the bullet I pulled from that corpse be of such a design."

He drew in a breath.

"This was the thinking of the Cardello's, too. Criminal they may be, stupid they are not. They sent a go-between. This go-between learned everything there was to know about the ME that was to perform the autopsy and deliver the evidence, there was no Abby at this time of course. They soon learned all there was to know about me and my difficulties. They knew everything there was to know about mother. In short, they knew everything they needed to know in order to get to me. One came to the house in the dark of night, I never learned his name. He's forever been the "go-between" to me. Mother was asleep thankfully as he laid his cards on the table. I was to swap out the bullet that was actually in Minuchi, with a plain Jane bullet that would be provided for me. That was all. No more, no less."

His eyes swam with the bitter pools of regret.

"They in turn, would pay all mother's medical bills. In surplus, providing a cash cushion for her needs for the rest of her life. The best medical care, the best physicians. All in exchange for one bullet, the bullet which had ended the life of an otherwise healthy man. I of course refused. At first. But the man was persistent, mother was ailing and my life was transformed into the most singularly painful vacuum of hell I had ever experienced. I was either to fail her, or to fail my professional duty and my moral code."

He forced himself to retain the eye contact with an expressionless Gibbs.

"I had three days to decide. No more, for that was as long as it would take to complete the autopsy and send away all the evidence. At the outset, I was set in my course. I couldn't tell anyone…for they had threatened the life of mother, and we both know Jethro, they would have delivered and justice would never have been done. But as the second day dawned, I received a call from mother's doctor informing me that she required a different strain of medication if we were to prolong both her life and quality thereof. It was a drug cocktail that was more than quadruple the price of her regular medication."

He swallowed deeply.

"I caved. I did what they asked. I rationalised it to myself, of course. The deceased man had caused endless amounts of pain to innocents under his command. He was universally regarded as a disgrace to the service. He was an evil man, a man beyond reprieve. Even if I had forwarded the right bullet, a conviction against any of Cardello's was a pure fantasy. There'd never been a successful prosecution, and there never would be. They would do what they had done countless times before, and buy off or threaten whoever it took to secure a mistrial or no trial at all."

Gibbs' expression remained terrifyingly expressionless.

"And so when the bullet was delivered to my home on the second night, I brought it to work on the third day and did what I had been bid. To the lab it was sent to, it was the bullet. It had been fired, it had been…expertly infused with the innards of the deceased, by me. It was the lethal bullet, and it was not a Cardello bullet. The FBI deflated, the murder was never solved, and to this day Minuchi rots beneath us with justice never having been done."

Ducky reluctantly forced some more air into his lungs.

"And that was the end of the matter. Mother's medical bills were duly taken care of, each and every day until her last day. A year ago, when she died, I thought my terrible secret had in a way, died with her. But about a month ago the calls started. The Cardello calls. The boss of the gang, or headman, whatever they're called…has lost his mind somewhat in old age. He was always by all accounts a sadistic man who truly enjoyed the pain of others. That, in my experience, would prove to be true. He is…toying with me, Jethro. He is threatening to expose me, for no reason other than to watch me sweat. He doesn't want or require any service from me, he just wants my fear, for fear is the same as food to such a man."

He scrubbed his eyes in misery.

"Young Mr Palmer walked in, unknowns to me, on one of those calls. I had learned to ignore them as best I could, knowing that it would be the end of me, mentally, to engage. But this call was different, this call was more pragmatic in nature. The man threatened…he told me that the bullet, the real bullet, that I had extracted all those many years ago…it was not destroyed. As they promised, they had lied. That bullet was their insurance, I see that now, without a cloak of desperation. My prints are on that bullet Jethro. I _stupidly_ took off my gloves when examining it, to trace across the engraved markings. The gloves were cumbersome, I couldn't feel properly and I thought that no-one would ever see the bullet again."

His brow dampened as his heart quickened.

"He told me he had left the bullet at some innocuous crime scene in the city, one that was to be enacted later on that night. Last night. There was going to be some shakedown or other, and the police would be called. He gave me the address. They would find the bullet, but no body or gun, but congealed blood. Naturally, they would run down the prints. The engraving linking the bullet to the Cardello's had been professionally removed, I was told, and all that remained were my prints. No one else had been foolish enough to touch the damn thing bare handed."

He was growing hoarse from talking, from unburdening.

"As he hung up on the loud speaker, I realised I wasn't alone. Mr Palmer had joined me. He had heard everything. Cardello…he likes to repeat himself, and so the whole sorry tale had been impressed upon Jimmy without my knowledge. Needless to say…the image the boy has of me was shattered, not unlike how one of yours would react if the situation were reversed, not that it ever would be. We argued, and he stormed out. I warned him not to go _near_ that scene. The next thing I knew, you were ringing me, telling me that he was blind drunk trying to get into some crime scene, and I knew. I knew instantly what he was trying to do, he was trying to protect me by retrieving the bullet."

He shook his head, regret forming in his veins like acid.

"He left before I could tell him…that I have an insurance policy of my own. Dictaphone transcriptions, video recordings and photographic evidence. It incriminates me to the highest degree, but the Cardello markings are plain to see. If I go down, so too do they. I finally plucked up the courage to ring the blasted man back last night and inform him of such. He backed straight off."

He took in one last breath and spread his arms wide.

"And that, Jethro is the tale of my disgrace and my disgusting hypocrisy. I have lied to you for many, many years and I am the direct cause of a man's death without vengeance. I put the life of someone close to me over the life of someone I didn't know, and cared not for. I did what I have preached against for years and there is no coming back from it. If I am to be found out, then so be it. I have made peace with that and I will go gladly wherever they take me. But to put Mr Palmer in danger, serious personal and professional danger the way I have? That is my biggest and most painful regret and there is nothing I can do about it."

He shrugged and looked Gibbs full force in the eye.

"I would have nothing but the greatest respect for you if you were to leave now and go straight to the Director with this. I have placed you in an agonisingly painful situation but you deserve the truth. You deserved the truth a long time ago. No apologies will ever be enough." His mouth tightened as he removed a letter from his inside jacket pocket. "Whether or not this goes down the legal road Jethro is somewhat irrelevant. In this moment, it is clear that there has been a breach of trust so venomous I fear truly that there is no return." He held the letter aloft. "My resignation, Jethro. A copy shall be sent to the Director before the end of business today."

He placed the letter on the table behind him and slowly walked the small gap between the two.

"I won't ask to shake your hand, old friend," he murmured, looking Gibbs squarely in the eye. "I won't insult you. The decisions I've made, I will live with. But I cannot do that looking you in the face every day, not that you would permit it. I appreciate that I am in no position to ask for favours, and it is your absolute prerogative to fire me. But…I would rather jump before I am pushed Jethro. Whatever happens next, know that your friendship is…was, one of the truest and rarest I ever had. Whatever you think of me, that is the truth." He hesitated for a fraction. "It would appear that Mr Palmer is not speaking to me. I have since realised, having calmed down from my foolishness last night, that I am in no position to chastise him for his actions. He is by far a better man than me."

He stepped back and his eyes pooled into imploring orbs for the first time.

"Look after him for me, won't you Jethro? Treat him like one of your four, he's going to need you."

With one last painfully loaded smile, he turned and strode from the room.

The swoosh of the doors that swallowed him would echo in Gibbs' ear drums for years to come.

….

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter. When I was writing Ducky's big secret story line, I didn't know what it was, but I sort of liked the idea of him doing something to protect his mother, their relationship is so precious. Whatever way this goes, it _won't_ be a Gibbs spanking Ducky route because I just don't think that works. Anyhow, thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought because I've never really focussed on Ducky like this before!

_Inks

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	31. Palmer's Psychology

He sat alone as he threw down another trickle of the soothing bourbon. Stretching out his legs on the bottom of the basement stairs, Gibbs leant against the cold wall and stared unseeingly into the distance. The Mason jar in his hand had been refilled more times than it was perhaps wise but he found he didn't care. A stench of incredulity clung to him like a leech, sucking any hope of peace from his very core. The all too familiar voice fluttered around his head like a never ending record that he yearned to rip from the seams of his mind. The latest boat loomed large in the distance as his eyes glazed over with betrayal and a deep seated sense of rage.

It was a cruel thing he decided, irony.

The one person in the entire world that he would turn to in this situation, just so happened to be the cause of this situation. Ducky was always his first port of call in any matter that strayed into the more unethical of garden's, and the kindly medical examiner would always know how to put that matter right back in its own garden. Gibbs' lips twitched in a sick sense of mirth as he raised the jar to his lips. There would be no question of asking the good doctor's advice on this one, he was completely on his own and he knew it. Divulging what Ducky had told him to any other living soul would place them in the same wretched position he currently sat in, and that was something he wasn't prepared to do.

Behind him, he suddenly sensed a presence.

But it wasn't one he was very familiar with.

He looked to his side in poorly concealed surprise as the lithe figure settled down behind him, gangly legs being awkwardly drawn up to an awaiting chest. The surprise wasn't so much born from the visitor himself, moreso, their demeanour. Silence prevailed as he raked a gaze over the entrant, and no words of explanation broke it. There was no nervous stuttering, there was no awkward shuffling, there was only the indefinable and uncharacteristic air of determination. "Palmer," Gibbs murmured lowly, raising the jar in greeting, "What can I do for you?"

Jimmy chewed on his lip for a moment before seeming to steel himself with a jerky nod.

"You can go to Dr Mallard and talk him out of this madness, this foolishness."

He suddenly seemed to remember to whom he was speaking and the bespectacled eyes widened.

"Please, I mean. If you'd uhh…be so kind and uhm…at your leisure."

Gibbs' brows rose so rapidly into his hairline they gave Palmer a sense of vertigo just by witnessing it. A sticky silence ensued as the agent allowed the blanket of shock to settle over him. "And why would I do that?" he eventually managed to query, a sharp tone to his voice. "What makes you think for one second that not only am I going to accept his resignation, but that I'm not going to have him arrested?" He shook his head slowly and forced his increasing heartbeat to still somewhat. "No offence kid, but this isn't a conversation we should be having. We both already know too much."

He threw his arm dismissively behind him.

"So why don't you go just go and get out of here. We'll pretend this visit never took place."

Jimmy's brow fell into a rather owlish but earnest frown.

It was only his deep seated affection and respect for Ducky that had him rooted to the spot.

"How can you say that?" he demanded quietly, "How can you sit there and say that? What Dr Mallard did…I'm not saying it was right, because it clearly wasn't. I'm not saying it's excusable, because it isn't. But it _is_ understandable. I thought that was what you were all about? Family? Are you saying that if the tables were reversed and it was your father that needed medical care, you wouldn't do whatever it took?" He seemed to be completely oblivious that he was steamrolling through one of his biggest fears as he continued to speak in a low, insistent tone.

"Dr Mallard is a good man, a decent man and he made a terrible mistake. I'm not saying I'm ok with it, but I am saying…that I can accept it for what it was. A desperate man backed into a terrible position. If you know him as I do and as I think you do, then you'll know that not a day goes by that he doesn't think on that mistake. But the past cannot be changed, Agent Gibbs, we only have what we have. And what we have…is the team." He flushed slightly for the first time. "Well…I mean I know I'm not really on the team _per se,_ but you and Dr Mallard go way back. He speaks so highly of you and I know you think…or you thought, highly of him."

His large glasses seemed to fog over with a sheen of desperation as he drew breath.

"Please," he implored quietly, "Go to him, make him see sense. He has given the better part of his golden years to NCIS. He doesn't deserve to leave in an undignified way." He fell silent for a moment and before Gibbs could even inject a syllable, Jimmy racked up the nerve to say the most damning part of his rehearsed conversation. "Can you truly say that in all your years, you've never done anything that would be considered unforgivable, but for the right reasons? Can you honestly look at yourself in the mirror and say that you have nothing to fear, that your hands and your conscience are clean?"

He steeled himself once more.

"Because I don't think you can, Agent Gibbs, with all due respect I don't think that you can. And if you can continue to put paid to your mistakes, whatever they are, by your service…then why shouldn't Dr Mallard be given the same chance? I know for a fact that he's talked you off the ledge more than once, don't you think you owe him a return of that favour?" He wiped a hand across his now damp brow. "He is a very proud man, Agent Gibbs, and something like this can only come from someone he respects as an equal, from someone he's grown with. I'll be straight up honest with you and tell you that I had Ducky's meeting with the Director pushed back. No official record of his resignation exists yet. I did that so you could talk to him, because…he needs to hear everything you have to say."

He shot Gibbs a look the agent would never forget.

"This is your responsibility sir, and I don't think you're a man to shirk his responsibilities."

It seemed like that was the last of what Jimmy Palmer had to say and he clamped his mouth shut as he rose to leave. Gibbs said nothing for what seemed like an eternity as a sandstorm of conflicting emotion battled within him. Palmer had reached the top of the stairs before he managed to peel his lips apart and rise himself. Stilling instinctively at the moment, the assistant ME glanced back down the stairs and stared directly at the man who usually left him shaking.

"You're wrong," Gibbs said quietly.

Disappointment freely coloured Jimmy's face as he nodded shortly and pivoted to leave.

Gibbs' clearing of the throat once again halted him.

"About not being a part of my team," the elder man continued softly, uncharacteristically so. He climbed the stairs and was soon standing directly in front of the puzzled Palmer. "You are a part of my team," Gibbs continued, knowing that the bourbon was helping the conversation along, but meaning it all the same. "And right now, you're the only part of my team with the ability to make me see sense before I make a hypocritical son of a bitch out of myself."

He allowed the kid to gape for a moment as he realised he was rather at a loss.

He quirked a brow.

"Err…can you drive, Palmer? You've got a licence right?"

Jimmy managed to operate his vocal chords as he nodded. "Yes," he said cautiously, "Uhh…why?" There was a little part of him that was operating at odds with his brain, that was just enjoying a big old bath of warm fuzzies. Gibbs… _Gibbs_ had said he was part of the team. The very same Gibbs that by his very presence made him want to throw up from nerves. "Because," the agent explained simply, "We're going to Ducky's now, but I can't really drive at the moment. Give me a ride?"

A bullet of relief shot through Jimmy as he nodded so fast his head spun.

If there was one thing he'd learned over the years, it was that Gibbs could fix it.

He always did.

A sudden sense of reckless abandon overtook him as he realised that Ducky would soon be aided. His body seemed to act without the aid of his brain as he moved forwards. Gibbs' eyes widened as the intention was realised and he stood stock still as the long arms suddenly wrapped around his chest and squeezed tight. Blinking rapidly, he growled deeply in this throat. "James Palmer…you got one second to get your hands off of me before _I slap you silly_."

When he realised him, Jimmy was still grinning as he led the way bouncingly from the basement.

Gibbs stared at the retreating back in shock.

Before a crooked smile crossed his face, never to be seen by the kind hearted examiner.

Duck was a lucky guy; Palmer…was one of the good ones.

Some time later as the car idled to a close, the two men stared at the imposing Mallard residence silently. The effects of the bourbon had worn off some and Gibbs was clear headed as he racked his brains. "You get yourself home now Jimmy," he instructed quietly, "You've had a long day and this is something that needs to be sorted out between Duck and I. I'm sure you'll see him tomorrow, alright?" He unbuckled his belt and opened the passenger door, shooting a rather stern gaze at the young man. "I mean it. You need to go home, get some sleep and let me see what I can do about this."

He slid from the car and braced himself to do something he found hard to do.

Even with his own four.

Never mind Ducky's…unique protégée.

"Good job tonight kid," he muttered, "It's not easy to convince a stubborn old fool like me to do something I swore down I wasn't going to do." He trailed off and patted the roof of the car rather awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Go on now…home." With that, he spun on his heel and crunched his way up the gravel path to the familiar door. Swimming in a pool of conflicting feelings, Jimmy faintly started the car and slid from the driveway.

All he could do now was wait.

And hope.

Not bothering with niceties like knocking, Gibbs strode right into the house like he owned the place. He already knew where he would find his old friend and it would require a considerable hurtling through the sprawling old house. Landing outside the study door that held the faint traces of music behind it, he hesitated. He was a man of few words, but the few he did speak, he knew. As he stood outside the studded wooden door, he truly had no idea what he was going to say to his old friend. His own feelings on the bullet swap were still so muddled he didn't know how he was going to demystify Ducky's, but he knew he had to try.

He was furious with his old friend, but he understood him. He was disgusted by his actions, but he was equally disgusted with some of his own. He knew that doing the wrong things for the right reasons wasn't acceptable, but he'd done it himself. He understood the impulse to protect family; it was that impulse that pulled the trigger that ended the life of Pedro Hernandez. His mind zeroed in on that life altering moment and the person that had been his staunchest ally. If Ducky could understand and excuse, if not forgive what he had done for Shannon and Kelly, then he could do the same for what Duck had done for his mother.

No matter what, they could work through it. It wouldn't be easy and it wouldn't be quick. But it could and would be done. He would see to it personally. The kid was right, it was his responsibility. But Ducky was so much more than that, he was one of the last few connections he had of a previous life, a happy life. He deserved the very best understanding that Gibbs could provide, in whatever form that took. With that realisation, he threw open the door with a bang. It became very clear, very quickly, that he may be too damned late as his entrance was duly observed.

His stomach dropped like a stone.

Ducky wasn't alone.

…..

TBC – Resolving this storyline in the next chapter! So, I've decided to keep this as a WIP as there's not much sense in starting another fic along the same lines. Is there anything you guys want to see after the Ducky storyline is resolved? I have a lot of ideas for other fics, both ongoing and new so I'd like to write something that you guys specifically want in this one as an on-going work.

Let me know!

_Inks

…..


	32. Of Worms and Cans

The last dredges of alcoholic fuzziness faded away like the last remnants of sunlight. Gibbs blinked rapidly and every military and federal instinct he possessed kicked into the highest of gears. Ducky, adorned in a rather patriotically tartan dressing robe peered up at him owlishly from his position on the sofa. The woman to his extreme left, dressed sharply in a suit that cost more than Gibbs weekly income glanced at him with a rather disinterested expression, before turning sharply back to Ducky. "Dr Mallard, perhaps you could rearrange this social call for some other time? We have much to discuss, and I'm afraid time isn't on our side."

Nodding slowly, Ducky turned to Gibbs and cleared his throat. It was the first time he'd seen his old friend since the revelations in autopsy and a rather frantic swarm of butterflies were dancing in his stomach. "Jethro, not that I am put out by your visit, but could you perhaps wait in the lounge for a few moments? I trust Ms Daniels here shall keep me no longer than is necessary." Ms Daniels gave a supporting nod, before throwing her gaze back to a wad of papers in her hands. Gibbs zeroed in on the pile and acutely felt the green hue that spread across his face.

"Who are you?" he demanded rudely of the woman, "What are you doing here?"

Raising a perfectly plucked brow, the young lady bristled. "I am here," she said curtly, "On a personal matter that concerns Dr Mallard. Now, if you would be so kind, perhaps you could see yourself out to the longue as directed and the doctor shall be with you shortly." She smiled a prim smile, before turning back to Ducky. "Now, I think the-"

"You're a damned lawyer," Gibbs growled, the puzzle pieces falling into place from instinct. He turned to Ducky and addressed him for the first time since their relationship had been blown from its pedestal. "The hell you doing with a lawyer, Duck? Have you lost your damned mind?" Holding up a placating hand, the eldest of the three sighed a sigh that contained years of closeted misery. "Jethro, there are times in one's life when one must realise running is not a forever occupation. I am tired of waiting for the other foot to fall, as they say. I intend to face this…failure of mine, head on. That is to say, I will be turning myself in. That as it may be, I do not want to die in prison Jethro."

His eyes betrayed the first flicker of fear causing Gibbs' stomach to clench painfully.

"Ms Daniels here is the daughter of an old friend from my Eton days. She is a wildly successful young lawyer, and thinks she can get me a…reasonable deal." The attorney suppressed a sigh as she realised the rather uncouth intruder knew exactly the details of the matter at hand. It would have been better that no one, save for she and her client knew the particulars, but she could see she was too late on that score. She looked up at the glaring man and squared her slim shoulders.

"Mr…?"

His eyes burned.

" _Agent."_

He sighed at her raised a brow and begrudgingly elaborated.

"Gibbs."

Nodding, Freya leafed through her files. "Agent Gibbs, it really would be for the best if you allowed my client and I some privacy. Whatever personal issues are at play here have no place in mounting any kind of a successful defence. I must insist that you allow me to do my job and give us the space in which to do just that." Gibbs shook his head with all the stubbornness of a mule and stood even firmer on his spot. "That ain't happening," he countered icily, "What is going to happen however, is that _you_ are going to give _me_ some privacy to do what I need to do."

He gestured towards the door, his eyes not upon her but Ducky.

"Thanks for your understanding."

Seizing up with raw indignation, Ms Daniels shook her head in askance. "Now, see here Agent Gibbs. You cannot simply burst into the home of another and decide upon that persons legal affairs." In her anger, her British accent shone through and elicited a small smile from Ducky as he remembered the child that had been. "Dr Mallard is an old family friend and I'll be quite frankly damned if I'm going to be bullied out of helping him. I insist you leave this instant." She looked at Ducky for confirmation, panting slightly from her uncharacteristic irritation. "Doctor?"

Staring at his friend for a moment, Ducky sighed.

"Could you grant us a moment, my dear? There are some things that cannot be banished to the longue and I rather fear this is one of them. I shall call upon you as soon as I can and in the meantime, there is ample sustenance in the fridge. Please help yourself." He patted her on the knee and smiled the smile she remembered so fondly from her childhood and she correctly gauged the meaning behind it. Nodding, she rose and made to leave the room, but not before pausing to throw a look of pure scathing at Gibbs who took it on the chin.

The door clicked gently behind her and for the second time in the small hours, both men were alone.

Not a man to waste time, Gibbs strode directly in front of Ducky and leaned against a table, folding his arms across his chest. "The hell are you doing man? Are you trying to book the best cell in the big house or something? Cos', take my word on this, there isn't one." Ducky smiled slightly at the analysis as he shook his head. "Jethro…I am an old man. I cannot carry this burden upon my shoulders any longer. Telling you was one of the most selfish but comforting things I have done in many years. The only way to find true freedom…is to offer true penance. I am past due and it is time to collect. That is all that is happening here."

Gibbs stared before he exploded.

"Have you lost your marbles? Did you drink the whole damned bottle or something? This isn't one of your pep talks with your cadavers, Duck. This is real goddamn life and you're about to throw the best part of yours away. Do you honestly think I'm going to stand back and allow that? You may be a bastard and you may not be the saint I thought you were, but guess what? We're all bastards. Every one of us. There's no one on this earth that hasn't done something they shouldn't. I'm not excusing you for a damn second, any more than I've excused myself, but there's a time and place and everything."

He shook his head with despair.

"It isn't the time for you to throw the towel in, Duck. This isn't your time."

Ducky peered at Gibbs with a silence so profound it seemed to seep from the man to erect a wall like barrier between them. Understanding and empathy hovered around the brick layers of that wall, desperately seeking a path to reconciliation between the two. But walls were walls and the walls between old friends are often the sturdiest and cruellest. The wall didn't yield as the doctor shook his head with sorrow.

"Do not compare yourself to me, Jethro. Do not do such an injustice unto yourself." It was only with sheer self restraint that Gibbs didn't reach out and shake the man senseless. "Do you hear yourself when you speak? he demanded, "Do you hear the insanity that is coming out of your mouth? Are you really going to rot in jail for the last years of your life for the likes of the Minuchi cartel?"

He snorted with quivering derision.

"Why stop there? Why not hang your hat on something bigger? Take the rap for the Great Train Robbery while you're at it, or," he snapped his fingers, "Why not the gang shootings in the fifth ward? Why don't you go down for that as well, so that Lil Maxboy and his crew can keep on dealing to kids down there?"

Ducky gaped.

"Lil Maxboy?"

Gibbs flushed for a moment before shrugging awkwardly.

"Whatever they call themselves," he muttered quietly, "That's not the point. The point is you're being a selfish son of a bitch and you better cut it out. And you better cut it the hell out right now. Make your friend a nice pot of tea, give her some of that British shortbread you're always yakking about and show her the door. Thanks but no thanks. You are not going down for this, not now. Not after all this time and not for protecting your family." He took in a deep breath and forced himself to lay his cards on the table.

"Was I shocked when you told me what you did? You bet your tartan ass I was. Was I disgusted? Sure, of course I was. But then…then damnit Ducky, it took that boy of yours to make me see sense. We're not that different, you and I. I have done terrible things, illegal things. To protect and…well, to avenge my family. Is there an excuse for that?" He shrugged. "Probably not, but I live with it. I live with it and I will live with it until the day that I don't live with it anymore. Then the big guy in the sky can decide what to do with me, if he's there. But what I won't do, and what I will never do…is leave my four in the dust whilst I pursue spiritual fucking absolution."

He glowered.

"Did that even cross your mind, did it? Before you planned this beautiful crucifixion of yours, I mean. Did Palmer ever enter that brilliant brain or did you just forget about him? That kid came to me, when I know damn well he barely remembers to breath around me. He came to me, on his own, to my house. He pleaded with me to get my head out of my ass, just like I'm pleading with you now. You did what you did Ducky. You did it, and there's no taking it back. You gave your mother what a son ought to give his mother, you gave her everything. Whether that everything was ethical, above board and all kinds of beautiful, it doesn't matter."

He shuddered in a deep breath.

"There's a big damn picture at play, Duck. And what you did…it's a part of the big picture, but it's not the whole part. You've done good in your life, you've helped more than you've hurt. But that is what you're going to do if you go ahead with this. You're going to hurt. You're going to hurt Jimmy, Abby…Tony, Tim…and…"

He scrubbed a hand over his face before adding a quiet monosyllable.

"Me."

Before Ducky could even express his shock, Gibbs pressed on, knowing time was against him.

"I understand the need for absolution, I carry my guilt with me and I'll never shake it. Not for Hernandez…but for other things, I carry that can of worms. And you know what, Duck? Maybe that is our absolution. Maybe carrying that can is our penance. Maybe carrying that can while we do more harm than good is our way of balancing the scales. Ain't nothing black or white in this damned world, no matter how much you want it to be."

To his intense shame, he felt raw emotion catch in this throat.

"Don't do this, Duck. Don't die in prison, don't end your days that way. Keep on carrying your can and I'll keep carrying mine. You got a kid that thinks the world of you, that was willing to do whatever it took for you. Don't turn your back on that. It's a precious damned thing, I should know. You throw yourself to the wolves, you won't make the world glow again. It'll be dark, for those who matter."

He shrugged as the emotions grew in his throat.

"I don't know what else I can say. This isn't going to be rosy in one day, or one month. I'll remember and you'll remember and it'll take time. Just like it took time for you to come to terms with Hernandez, but you did. There is no moral high ground that never erodes, Duck. Yours just got its first taste, that's all. Doesn't mean the whole damned cliff has to come down." He sucked in some more air, and tilted his head at his oldest friend who was starting at him like he'd never once before seen him.

"At the end of the day and no matter what I think, this is your call."

He swallowed.

"We'll stand by ya, Duck. But we'd rather stand with you."

Nodding then, almost to himself, Gibbs strode to the door and rested his hand on the handle. "Shall I send her back in then, your lawyer friend?" He knew the answer to his apparently innocuous question bore repercussions that would shudder through all their lives like an earthquake, but he would take whatever answer he got. He knew when to push forwards and when to pull back. His breath caught in his throat nonetheless as Ducky stood slowly and strode to land directly in front of him. For a moment, the old friends said nothing as they stared at each other, an oasis of emotion playing out in both sets of eyes.

Eventually, Ducky found his voice.

"What do you do when the can gets too heavy?"

His voice was low, infused with a confliction of emotion as he was placed in the unusual position of seeking advice, rather than discharging it. Gibbs smiled his rare, crooked smile as he reached out and squeezed Ducky's shoulder gruffly.

"You fill the damn thing up with good bourbon and you drink from it with good friends."

Ducky felt his balance wobble slightly under the onslaught of the decision he was about to make, but Gibbs' hand on his shoulder steadied him. There was silence for a moment as the two allowed the other to process what needed to be processed. Eventually Ducky stood firmly on his own two feet and looked up at his friend with a resolute expression.

"I'll bring the bourbon."

…

TBC

A/N: Thanks for all the suggestions for the upcoming team chapters. Please, keep them coming. Like I said, this WIP is kind of a _what you want to see_ fic. Don't be shy to suggest what you want!

_Inks

…


	33. The New Regime

"Alright, listen up you four cos' I ain't got all day and I ain't gonna repeat myself." Abby, who was perched on the side of his desk, looked up from whatever file she was reading as did Ziva, Tim and Tony from their respective desks. It had been three or four months since the Ducky saga and Gibbs was highly unimpressed with what he was about to say. Things had just started getting back to normal and now they would be thrust into upheaval once more. But the Director had insisted and hell hath no fury like Jennifer Shepherd disobeyed. Not that he hadn't tried it, but she had refused to relent, even after the hour long showdown that had occurred in her office just yesterday evening. He was going and he had to accept it, swallow it and get back as soon as humanly possible.

"I wanted you all here because I have to leave for about a month. Training assignment overseas. Can't talk about it other than that. I leave tonight and I will be back no later than four weeks time."

The four looked at each other in consternation at the blunt announcement. None of them, save Abby, would admit that Gibbs leaving for a month was upsetting to them. That would be too emotional for the three of them, so they kept the fact his departure was distressing, silent. But…it was. Breaking the silence first, Tim cleared his throat and asked perhaps the most pertinent of questions. But also the most "Tim-like" question that brought a private smile to Gibbs' inner mind. "Is it a dangerous assignment, Boss? Can't one of us go with you too?"

Tony immediately seconded that idea as too did Ziva.

Gibbs held up a hand before Abby could even think about chiming in.

"It's not dangerous," he said truthfully, "It's boring, but not dangerous. The point is, I'm not going to be here and I'm telling you here and now-"

"That we better listen to Tony the same way we do you or there'll be trouble," Tim interjected miserably, the month ahead looking gloomier by the minute as he repeated Gibbs' frequent threat. Ziva made an accompanying noise of distress based assent from her corner of the room as Tony began to grin like a Cheshire cat. Abby felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Unlike Ziva and Tim whom Tony shamelessly drove nuts, she had no issue with him being in charge. As long as it was a temporary charge, as long as her silver fox was on the imminent horizon. Tapping his pen against his perfect teeth, Tony shrugged nonchalantly.

"Don't worry Boss, I got it covered. The place will still be intact when you get back under my watch."

Gibbs, in a very rare bout of nervousness, nodded thoughtfully.

"I know it would be," he uncharacteristically praised, causing Tony to beam and Ziva and Tim to discreetly roll their eyes. "But…the Director has other ideas for the leadership of this team throughout my time away." He tried very hard not to react to the confused and hurt look that instantly replaced Tony's smile as he ploughed diligently on. "There is a new MCRT being set up. A transient one, designed for overseas ops involving American servicemen and women. Won't have a base like we do, they go where the work is. The leader has already been selected and has solid international experience. But…not much leadership experience. None at all, actually."

Gibbs swallowed.

"The Director wants this new leader to take over this team in my absence, so that he can gain experience in directing a team. He's on his way here as we speak and lands tomorrow morning, he being Special Agent Brent Ellis. He will be here to meet you at about midday tomorrow and will take over from thereon in until I get back." He cleared his throat. "This is in no way a reflection on our team; it's just a matter of scheduling. I happening to be leaving and he happened to be coming, and that…is that I guess."

It was Ziva who protested first.

"Gibbs, that is ridiculous. Tony is more than capable of-"

The team-lead held up a hand. "I know that, Ziva. Don't you think I know that? Jenny knows that too. That isn't the matter under question. This guy…this Brent fella…he needs to learn how to lead a team. Their MCRT needs to be up and running in no more than five weeks. He's going to spend four of those here, learning how to lead, and the last week selecting his own people. I don't need to remind any of you that it is our job to lend a hand to other MCRT's when needed, do I?"

He glanced around the room, arching a brow, loathing the speech he was giving.

"Well? Do I?"

A slow, sluggish and thoroughly unconvinced chorus of "no Boss… no Gibbs" rang out and he nodded in response. Sighing deeply, he shrugged. "I don't like this anymore than you do." He glanced at Tony. "I would feel a lot better leaving you in charge, DiNozzo, but I don't got a choice here. You understand that?" His protégé stared at him for a moment with guarded eyes, before the usual trust melted through and he nodded. "I do, Boss, I get it." If Gibbs were a routinely hugging person, he would have hugged the kid then and there. He was truthfully the most concerned with Tony's reaction to the whole deal. He had feared, and that fear had driven his objections, that Tony would take this change in managerial set up as a blow to his own capabilities. It was true when Gibbs said that Jenny had no reservations on that front, and it was clear that Tony knew that.

And that, in and of itself, was a massive relief to the wearied Jethro.

"Alright then," he concluded quietly, "Same rules apply. I expect the exact same level of respect shown to Agent Ellis as would be the case if I was here. I do not want to get back here and find a pile of complaints on my desk about my people. I will be…extremely unhappy if I return to find that is the case. Is that understood?"

He looked at them each in turn and with a different meaning unto each.

"Is it?"

All four stared back at him, blinking innocently.

He was not to be fooled.

"If I come back here," he continued, in a dangerously silky voice that oozed with unpleasant promise, "And this Agent Ellis isn't falling over himself to sing your praises from the rooftops, none of you will ever sit down again without thinking it through carefully." He glowered. "Ever again. Now, for the last time, is that understood?" His words had an instant effect of removing the faux innocence from the room, replacing it with a grudging acceptance and a rumbling of quiet affirmations. "Good," Gibbs announced, standing and throwing a few files together on the desk. "We don't got a case right now. I got a side of beef from a friend of mine in the fridge, but I'm watching my figure. Cadge some dinner?" He snorted grimly. "Last supper sorta carry on?"

His voice was gruff as all hell, in an effort to disguise how much he was going to miss them.

Even for a month.

They were not to be fooled by his ham fisted attempt at aloofness.

They were in.

The two headslaps were loud, even over Ziva and Abby's amused spluttering. As Tony and Tim rubbed their heads in squawking indignation, Gibbs threw a beer into each of their free hands. "I see either of you try and stab each other again…and I'll do the job for both of you. Capiche?" The two stared for a moment, accepting the beers gratefully, before shrugging. "Ok, but no one says capiche any more, Boss, it's pretty dated." Under Gibbs' quailing stare and to the backdrop of Tim's bemused snort, Tony conceded defeat.

"Capiche, Boss, capiche."

Rolling his eyes and returning to the kitchen, dragging Ziva and Tim with him, Gibbs returned a few moments later with the two in toe, all laden down with delicious looking food. Abby and Tony mirrored the looks of shock that were splashed across Tim and Ziva's faces. Setting a sizzling joint down on the table, Gibbs clocked the four identical expressions and chuckled. "Roast is the one thing I know how to do," he explained easily, "It used to be…it used to be Kelly's favourite…" he trailed off awkwardly, looking at the food silently. Abby came to his aid, to the immense relief of all concerned.

"It looks great," she enthused, jumping up to help Ziva, "Shall I carve?"

Gibbs rapidly snatched away the accompanying carving set.

"I got it, I got it…"

Tony and Tim snorted with laughter in the kitchen as Gibbs was subjected to a lengthy lecture on Abby's knife proficiency as they fetched drinks. After a few more moments, all were seated and eating and laughing happily. Gibbs felt a pang of foreboding misery for the month to come as he looked around the table. Drive him nuts though they may, he was going to be at a bit of a loss for the next four weeks. It was certainly going to be quiet, very quiet. Taking the time out of his thoughts to glare at Abby's tormenting of Ziva, he returned to his well fed stupor with a certain poignancy. Truth be told…he was the most unhappy with the leaving of his team with a complete stranger. He never had any concerns with leaving the team under Tony's lead, but this…was a completely different kettle of fish.

Kind of name was Brent anyway? He knew absolutely nothing about the guy.

The night passed in a comfortable haze and as morning dawned, the team was split in two. Tony, Tim, Ziva and Abby rolled into work at their usual times, but this time Gibbs wasn't there before them. This time…his desk remained bathed in darkness as he was settling into a long haul flight. Throwing himself behind his desk, Tony mirrored the studious expressions that were adorning Ziva and Tim's faces. All were staring intently at the elevator doors. Abby remained in the lower levels below. None of them knew what to expect, none of them knew a single thing about Special Agent Brent Ellis. The only comfort they had was…they survived LJ Gibbs on a daily basis. They were pretty much trained and equipped for any eventuality that may walk through those doors.

But…he just wasn't what they were expecting when he walked through those doors.

In the slightest.

Dressed in a well worn pair of jeans and pale green t-shirt, more suitable to a painting and decorating gig than a federal building, Agent Ellis wore a toothy smile to beat the band. He carried a battered rucksack on his back and held a half eaten deli sandwich in his hand. On closer inspection, a pronounced mustard stain coloured his raggedy shirt, a fact of which he seemed oblivious to. Throwing his rucksack down in the middle of the bull pen floor, he smiled an even wider smile. Speaking through a half full mouth, a piece of lettuce protruding from the corner, he had a very pleasant, clear voice.

"Morning all, how're we doing today then?"

Swallowing an alarmingly large mouthful, he wiped his soiled hands on his shirt.

"Where are my manners gang? I'm Special Agent Brent Ellis." He winked happily. "Y'all can call me Brent, though I prefer just plain ole' B." He moved closer and under the bright lights, it became clear that he was exceedingly handsome and exceedingly young. "Now, I'm pretty much useless with names. But I'm gonna go ahead and do my best for y'all anyway. He glanced at Tony and smiled wider still. "Now you look like a sound candidate for a deputy…or, second in command, is it? That's what they say up in these parts right?" He tilted his head pleasantly as Tony managed to stand through his shock. "And what name did they give you then?"

Tony blinked.

"Uhh…Tony," he muttered quietly, his usual bouncy town muted by surprise, "Tony DiNozzo."

Brent blinked cheerfully.

"DiNozzo eh? You must be one of those handsome Italian fellows then. Pleasure to meet you."

He extended a hand which Tony shook automatically, surprised by the firm, steady grip. Dropping his grip with a smile, Brent turned to Tim and Ziva and similar introductions took place. It was Ziva who couldn't contain herself any longer as she studied the new arrival. "How old are you?" she blurted out, unabashed by the directness of her question. Brent chuckled, a very pleasant, rumbling sound. "I'm twenty eight," he answered happily, "Well, twenty eight and a half. I'm pushing on, but sure, ain't we all?"

Tony's eyes bulged.

 _Twenty eight?_

That was younger than him.

Perhaps…considerably younger than him.

He now had a damned kid for a boss. A kid with looks that were arguably nicer than his and what he deduced to be a New Orleans accent, destined to drive every woman nuts. And the worst part was…he liked him. He immediately liked him. He could tell by Ziva and Tim that they too were also being drawn to him. It was like he had this aura about him and one couldn't but like him. Eying Gibbs' desk, Brent suddenly jerked his head towards it.

"Is that my little cubby then?"

He moved towards it, about to throw the remnants of his sandwich upon it.

Tony stepped in to save the day.

"Uhh actually…ahh…B, that's the bosses desk. Gibbs' desk, I mean. And he doesn't really like anyone touching his stuff. We've cleared out another desk for you, just at the other side of Tim's. It's nothing personal; no-one's allowed to touch his things." He shrugged reassuringly. "Just one of his rules."

Brent let out another good natured laugh as he tossed the tin foil onto the desk anyways.

Turning back to face them, all he clapped his hands together with a cheeky wink.

"First things first gang, there's going to be a few changes around here."

He inclined his head with a chappy grin.

"And the first change is…there are no rules. Not anymore. Not under my watch."

…..

Batch Update A/N: Thanks a lot for the reviews/messages asking how I am due to the break in posting. I've just been super busy is all! Just another thank you for all the feedback, especially to guest reviewers who I can't message (Fan, GuestG etc, you guys are great), and to all readers! Until next time.

_Inks.

…...


	34. Breaking the Ice

The morning sunshine had the bullpen bathed in a pleasant and balmy light. There would usually be a hive of activity burning in the communal area at just gone eight am, but not today. Today saw Agent's DiNozzo, McGee and David sitting nervously at their desks. Not even Tony spoke. A heady air of the unknown wafted over the three of them as they pawed at staplers, punch holes and their morning coffees. Eyes flickered to the large overhead clock. Nine thirty five. In Gibbs time, the day was half way through and all those who weren't participating at that time were a burden to the state. They normally would have been out to a scene or interviews at this stage. Granted, they didn't have an active case that they knew of, but still…this sitting was maddening.

Ziva, who had more professional upheaval than the boys', was perhaps the calmest of the three. She had worked for many, many different people and was confident she could adapt. Even if Agent Ellis was a little…peculiar. Tony, on the other hand, was none so sure. He had worked for Gibbs, practically solely, for a long time. He was used to him and his style of management. If you can call _do or die_ …a management style. He supposed all in all you could, and that was what he was used to. Brent reminded him of some washed up surfer on some far flung beach that lived happily on a monthly allowance from his disgruntled parents.

What with him being practically fresh from the womb and all that.

Tim chewed his lip as he neatly repositioned his pen stock for the fifth time.

Agent Ellis was an unreadable volume. He didn't make sense. He was very successful at an inordinately young age, and yet, he didn't appear particularly matured for his age. He looked like a post grad that was about to backpacking around Europe with the possibility of volunteering at some wildlife sanctuary or other. He was a conundrum. Usually, Tim liked conundrums. But not when they involved change and Brent…well Brent definitely involved change. It was like moving from the well meaning dictatorship he was accustomed to, to a nudist colony in the south of France. Tim wasn't the nudist colony type and the whole situation made him very bothered indeed. Sighing, he glanced up at the clock. Nine forty five. Did this guy intend to come in today at all?

He opened his mouth for the first time to voice that very query.

But quickly shut it again.

Smiling toothily and slightly sheepishly, Agent Brent Ellis suddenly sloped out of the pinging elevator. All eyes immediately turned to him. He wasn't much better presented today than he had been yesterday. A pale blue button down, khaki slacks and well scuffed brown loafers all topped off with a head of hair that clearly hadn't seen a hairbrush upon his wakening. All three sets of eyes widened somewhat as he waved nonchalantly in their direction, slightly hindered by the laden down tray of coffee he was carrying. Stopping short at Tony's desk, he cleared his throat and his pleasantly deep voice spread throughout the room for the second time.

"Morning folks."

All three kept their peace about the inaccuracy of his time labelling.

He quickly set about distributing the coffee and producing a slightly crumpled bag from under his arm, added a decadent pastry to each order. Tony's eyes widened as his tongue poked through his teeth before he could control it. "Dig in," Brent instructed cheerily, placing the last of the delivery on Ziva's desk who stared at in confusion. "I thought we could all do with a little breakfast before we…uhh, get on with the day." Tim and Ziva stared indecisively at their apparent breakfast as Tony happily threw it down his throat. "What's the matter? Wrong flavour?" Brent asked courteously as McGee and Ziva sat stationary. Ziva shook her head. "No no…it is just….well, uhm….we are not exactly used to…breakfast….like this."

Brent winked.

"Well get used to it, Ziva. Everyone's gotta eat, don't see why we should be any different."

Clapping his hands together as Ziva and Tim cautiously nibbled at their pastries, Brent crossed over to Gibbs' desk and threw himself down with a flourish. Tony made an odd spluttering noise as some of his pastry got lodged in his throat. Ellis had his none too clean shoes up on Gibbs' desk and was seemingly indifferent to the very obvious scuff marks they were creating. The three original agents' looked at each other in barely concealed askance, which again, seemed to go over Ellis' head.

Ziva cleared her throat.

"Agent Ellis, what-"

He waved a cheery hand. "Ziva, Ziva, Ziva…how are we going to get to know each other at all if you call me _Agent Ellis?"_ He chuckled and patted his chest. "I'm Brent, remember? Or B. Let there be no more of this silly Agent this and Agent that…and don't dare let me hear you calling me sir." He shuddered. "I hate all that crap." He threw his arms to the room at large. "Guys, while I'm here, we're a team. Sure, I might have the final say in this and that, but we're all on the same page here. We're all here for the same reason and we're all the same in my eyes. So let's start as we mean to go on, ok? Y'all call me B, or Brent if you're feeling chatty and we'll all get on mighty fine."

He grinned widely at them.

"Ok gang?"

Three heads nodded up and down uncertainly.

Brent shook his head with a chuckle, placing his hand dramatically behind his right ear.

"I need to hear it guys, I need to hear it to believe it. Is that ok?"

When the confused assenting chorus rang out, he was satisfied. "Great. Now, we don't have a case. So…what do y'all do when you don't have an active investigation? We're the MCRT on first response if something juicy comes in, but until then, we're pretty much gathering dust. Anyone got any ideas on how to make the day go a little smoother for us fine folks?" Tony went from confused to glum as he realised he was the senior agent and had to act responsibly. Gibbs would have his guts if he didn't. "We usually work cold cases when we don't have an active one," he said quietly, "Usually one of us makes a trip to archives…grabs the first bundle they see….enough for all of us."

Brent frowned.

"But that sounds boring as all hell. Am I wrong?"

Tony shook his head, stealing a glance at the other two who were staring at Brent like he was fresh from the river of unicorns. "Well, no…" Tony admitted, "But is protocol, Gibbs-" The newly appointed king spluttered in interruption and waived an airy hand. "Gibbs, shchmibs. We don't got an active case, that ain't our fault now is it? Man, let me tell you. Back home in New Orleans…there's no such thing as looking over a cold case. Once it goes cold, it's dead. We all know that. Ain't no use in flogging a dead horse gentlemen and m'lady…cos it ain't going to run again." He clapped his hands together. "Naw, I think I can come up with a more productive usage of our time."

He suddenly stood so abruptly and quickly the team's eyes watered.

"Grab your coats. We're headed out."

Matching blank expressions met his announcement.

"Out?" Tim repeated blankly, "Out where?" Brent shrugged. "Let's see where the wind takes us, shall we?" He pointed at the phone on McGee's desk. "Go ahead and ring up that crazy cool chic down in forensics, she's coming too. I ain't used to this big political city. Y'all are going to give me a crash course in DC living. Seeing as I'm here to learn and all that clap trap, seems fitting I should know my way around." He tilted his head coyly at them. "Unless you'd _rather_ stay here and wade through cold cases from before y'all were born?" They stared dumbly at him, hardly daring to believe their luck. This was unheard of and certainly without precedence. Tony, once again, was reluctantly stricken with a sense of duty. One that had been thoroughly headslapped into him over many years.

"Uhm…B? I don't think Gibbs would like it if-"

Brent snorted and shrugged.

"I ain't going to tell him. You ain't going to tell him. Ain't anyone going to tell him. No problem."

Tony opened his mouth once more.

Brent beat him to it.

"C'mon Tony, I didn't have you pegged as a teacher's pet. Was I wrong?"

"No," DiNozzo objected passionately, insulted by the very idea. "You weren't." He glanced around at Tim and Ziva, McGee with his hand hovering pleadingly on the phone's receiver. It was clear they were waiting for his lead on whether or not to follow Brent's lead. He sighed deeply, but internally. Gibbs would have his ass if ever found out, but…technically, he _was_ following orders. And if there was one thing that Gibbs valued, it was following orders. Brent was in charge until their regular chieftain returned and Gibbs had warned that Brent's word was to be followed as if it were his own. So technically, he was doing the right thing, he was doing as he was told.

He swallowed.

"I call shotgun then."

Brent let out a cheery whoop and throwing an arm around the rising Ziva's shoulders, he steered her and led the way to the lift. Tony and Tim stood still for a moment, waiting for her to break his neck. But…she didn't. In fact….she _giggled._ They looked at each other in silent bemusement before Tim shrugged. "We're just doing as we're told," he hedged reasonably, reading Tony's mind. "Not our fault if Brent….if B, has a different leadership style now is it?" Wanting to avoid cold cases as desperately as his probie, Tony nodded solemnly. "Exactly," he agreed quietly, as he strode from the bull pen with McGee. "We're just following orders, like Gibbs wanted." He grinned. "Is Abby game?" The grinning and knowing look that shot his way was answer enough. Ten or so minutes later, and all of Team Gibbs plus Brent were piling into the newbie's car.

Tony practically salivated when he saw it.

As it screeched out of the lot, Brent happily followed directions to what was promised as the best diner in the city. They all could make room for more breakfast. All their reservations about essentially playing hooky melted away as Brent rolled down the convertibles top, and the balmy morning air rippled across their faces. In fact, by the time they got to the diner, not one of them held onto a single reservation about what Gibbs would think of their field trip if he knew about it. An hour or so later and they were all comfortably fed and foddered, laughing and joking in their own booth. All four of them were warming up to Brent like a kindling fire. He was funny, laid back but had a definable air of competence about him. Being a cop's cop, Tony decided to trust his gut instinct.

Brent was a good agent.

Unorthodox, sure, but good all the same.

He must be, he reasoned, to be where he was at his age. Pushing down the jealously he felt about that fact, he happily accepted another shake as he launched into another war story that Brent cordially listened to. When they eventually spilled out of the diner, it was noon and the sun was warming up. It was a very pleasant day indeed and Brent had no intention of being cooped up in a stuffy government office on such a day. Winking at Abby, who had quickly gotten over her reservations, he raised a brow. "We guys chose the diner," he tilted his head towards Ziva, "Seems only fair that the ladies decide where to next?"

They both blinked at him.

"Shouldn't we be getting back?" Ziva asked nervously, supported by Abby's conscientious nod.

Brent waved their concerns airily away.

"On a day like this? Not on your life. Now…I dunno about you, but I could really go for a quick tipple to get my juices flowing. You gals know any good spots?" His words had all four of them gawping in his general direction. For what felt like the millionth time, Tony saw a flash of Gibbs' jumping jaw and felt a phantom pain in the back of his skull. "Err…it's a bit early, don't you think?" Brent guffawed as he shook his head. "Buddy, I'm from New Orleans. I should already be on my forth short at his hour." Seeing their still very obvious concern, he held his hands up. "Look gang, we've no case, therefore we've no responsibilities. Today is all about getting to know each other and learning how to work with each other." He poked himself in the chest. "I dunno about you lot, but I tend to get to know people the best over a few cold ones. So, how about we just let our hair down today and go ahead and tie it right back up tomorrow?"

Tony shuffled uncomfortably. It was appealing as all hell…but still, he knew it was wrong.

"Well, yeah….but you see, Gibbs-"

Brent held up a hand.

"I have very few rules people. Practically none actually. But I'm making an exception." He held up a dramatic hand and cleared his throat. "I hereby declare, as acting AIC of this MCRT that we are now entering a Gibbs free zone. We're not going to think about the dude, mention the dude or even dream about the dude. This is my ship whilst I'm here and there's only room at the mast for one skipper. I will hand you all back to your Gibbs in one piece when I leave, but for now, you're mine. And I want to get to know you. So, will y'all do a man a favour and have a drink with him?"

He winked at them once more and scrunched his face into a perfect poodle replica.

"Pretty please?"

All four looked at each other before swallowing deeply and nodding. There was something oddly mesmerising about this Brent character. He was borderline impossible to say no to. He made everything sound so simple, even things they wouldn't have even considered a mere day or so ago. He clicked his fingers in victory and pointed to his car. "Then get yourselves back in my baby and direct me onwards. I don't care where we go as long as they have a pool table. You people look like you don't know one end of a cue from another, and I can't have that kind of inexperience on my team." They all piled back into his car, relaxing at his words, deciding to just go with it and enjoy their unexpected time off. They never got time off, they had every right to enjoy it when it unexpectedly came upon them.

They were only human, after all.

Starting the ignition, Brent sat still for just a moment. "One more thing," he added, "The bar is a sacred place, a holy place. A place of liquid worship. It is not a place to be assaulted with ringing phones and irritating texting." He held out a hand and raised a brow. "Hand em' over gang. Mine is on, if anything comes in, I'll hear about it. Y'all can collect them when we're sufficiently acquainted and lubricated." He wiggled his fingers. "Let's go, let's go, let's go." They all stared at him blankly. He was asking them to break one of the most cardinal of rules. Never be unreachable. Tim cleared his throat in the back seat. "Uhh…B? I don't think Gibbs would-"

Brent wagged his finger.

"The zone, Timmy. We're in the zone, remember? That name is taboo."

He chuckled.

"Don't worry, I'm a fair guy. The first round's on you and we'll forget all about your slip."

He held out his hand once more.

"C'mon people, the beer will be getting warm the longer we sit here."

Slowly and uncertainly, they reached for their cells. In their guts, they knew they were making the wrong call. But he was there and Gibbs was not. What could they do? He was technically their boss and if his cell was on, where was the harm really? Smiling as he placed all four phones securely into the glove compartment, Brent accelerated and under Tony's tutelage, they were soon speeding away to a much loved MCRT watering hole. None of them could know, as they sat in the bar a solid three hours later and two sheets drunker, that disaster was occurring. None of them could know that Brent was about as technologically sophisticated as a concussed goldfish. None of them could know that he hadn't programmed his new cell. None of them could know it was as dead as a doornail in his pocket, never to ring, never to announce.

Never to step in and save them all.

Several hundred miles away, a different type of technological dinosaur fared slightly better. The piercing shrill of his cell drummed into Gibbs' brain as he groaned. Sleep had been one hell of a difficult beast to capture and just when he had, of course the damned thing he loathed but lived with would torment him. Glancing at the clock he swore quietly when he saw the time. Whoever was ringing him had better have a damned good reason for doing so at three in the morning. Seeing the caller ID, he sighed. Jenny. Did she now know how to calculate time differences? Had he really taught her nothing?

"Gibbs."

She breathed nervously.

He could tell.

He sat up straight, hitting his head on the godforsaken shelf above him.

"Jen?"

Still no answer.

"For god sake Jenny if you've butt dialled me or whatever they call it at this hour of the morning, I-"

"Jethro," she hedged, biting the bullet. "Have you heard from your team? From Tony?" Gibbs felt his nerves tingle into life as he clambered instantly out of the bed, stubbing his toe with a yelp. "No? I've only been gone five minutes, why would…" He scratched his head. "What is it?" he asked quietly, in his most terrifying tone. "What's happened? Is one of them hurt? If they are Jen, I'm getting on a place and I swear to-"

She sighed.

"They're not hurt, Jethro," she muttered darkly, "But they _are_ AWOL."

He slumped back down on the bed and tugged his hair in agitation.

"The hell are you talking about?"

Frowning at the tone but expecting it, Jenny slunk back in her chair with a sigh. This was a monumental cock up and she could just hear the "I told you so" she was going to have to swallow. "Your team," she said quietly, "They left here this morning, about five or so hours ago at this stage. They should have been working on cold cases, no active investigation. But no files were checked out of archives and footage shows them all, Brent included, leaving at nearly 10am. They've not been back, and we have a fresh case in. I need to get in contact with them, immediately. Which is why I was wondering if you've heard them, but…you've clearly not."

Gibbs blinked in a stupefied trance.

"Get a hold of them?" he repeated rather dumbly, "Well, for hells sake, Jen, pick up the phone and ring them. Ring Tony." She closed her eyes slowly. Of course. Eureka. Why hadn't she thought of that? "I have tried," she answered dryly, "All of their phones are off. GPS last had them at a diner and then off and nothing. Been dark for about three or more hours now. High profile case has come in and my MCRT is nowhere to be found. It's a nightmare of horrendous proportions and-"

"Excuse me?"

She blinked.

"Huh?"

He growled slowly, his ears refusing to believe what he was hearing.

"Do you mean to say…that _my_ team….that _my_ people… _all_ my people….are unreachable?"

She hesitated slightly, and cleared her throat.

"Well…"

He cursed fluently and lowly under his breath.

"Answer me Jen, damnit! Is that what you're telling me?"

She swallowed, hating the fact that _she_ was _his_ boss and still all these years later he could make her feel like an errant rookie with a few words. She dropped her head in her hands as the magnitude of the situation hit her. She had a call waiting from the SecNav. This…was getting a hell of a lot more serious than she wanted to deal with. Gibbs' team were borderline maverick, that's how they worked. But without him…apparently, they'd decided to go full blown maverick.

And it was about to blow back in _her_ face.

"Yes."

Gibbs sat rigid, frozen with conflicting emotions, mostly anger.

His voice, when he spoke, was that awful voice she remembered with crystal clear clarity.

The quiet, cold and downright terrifying voice.

"I told you, but you didn't want to listen, did you? I told you."

He shook his head and dropped his head into his hands, groaning out loud.

"I told you that my team is _my_ team. Not Brent flaming Ellis'."

She gulped.

"Gibbs, I-"

"Save it, Jennifer," he snapped, standing abruptly and crossing the room. "I'll deal with this myself."

She blinked.

"Gibbs, you need to listen, I-"

She trailed off…

He'd already hung up.

….

A/N: TBC.

….


	35. Field Trip

Filing away yet another sample, Ducky was jolted from tedium for a moment as his cell rang loudly. Taking a while to locate it, he noted the odd number but answered anyway. It was clear in three seconds of picking up the call that perhaps he ought to pay more attention to funny numbers. Sitting on his well worn lab stool, the patient doctor hummed and hawed in all the right places. His brows flew up and down with increasing vigour the longer the call went on. He answered the irate questions in a patient and logical tone, whilst sitting on the own pool of anger that was beginning to splash around his stomach. Pressing a hand to his eyes, he sighed at a momentary lull in the conversation. "Of course I'm not saying it is acceptable behaviour Jethro, I quite understand that you are very disconcerted. All I am saying is that you are very tired and you do not have the full story. It would be dreadfully unwise therefore, to make assumptions about the whole situation."

Storming around his lacklustre accommodations, Gibbs' eyes were wide with indignant fury.

"Assumptions? _Assumptions?_ Are you kidding me, Duck? I don't need to make assumptions. I'll tell you exactly what's happening shall I? They're running rings about this Brent character. They saw an opening and they took it. He probably has no idea where they are, they've probably run off and left him with his mouth open somewhere." Gibbs growled the more he thought about it. "I'll kill them. I mean it Duck; just they wait until I get back there. I'm going to flay them alive. I specifically warned them to show this guy respect, and now look. I told Jenny. I told her. My team is no team to cut your teeth on. They need a firm hand, not some green and spineless rookie." He carded a hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe they've done this. Even for them, this is a new level of moronic."

He shook his head slowly, speaking with a soft rage.

"Duck, will you help me? I can't get away from here until my time is up. And…well, like I said, this is out there even for them. Doesn't add up. I'm hoping there's some reason for this. Some sort of in the moment undercover op, I dunno. Anything other than my entire team deciding to forget everything I've ever taught them the minute my back is turned would be nice. There's no sense in going looking for them. They know how not to be found if they don't want to be found. When they come back…talk to Tony for me. Try and see what's going on. I'm going to keep trying their cells, but if you hear from them before I do, talk to Tony. I don't want to believe he signed off on something this stupid. Brent or no Brent, he knows he was supposed to be me. I need answers and I need em' fast. Can you do that?"

Ducky breathed out slowly.

"Of course Jethro. If I speak to Tony before you do, is there anything you'd like me to relay?"

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly, speaking with a certain darkness.

"Tell him that my garden is doing well this year."

Blinking into the now dead cell, Ducky barely noticed the rudeness of the hang-up. _Tell him that my garden is doing well this year?_ He shook his head. His old friend mightn't be quite as old as he was, but he was certainly losing control of his faculties. A well doing garden indeed. Looking up as the doors swooshed open, Ducky found a certain warm comfort that Jimmy was where he was supposed to be. "Ah Mr Palmer. Just the ticket. Tell me, have you heard from young Anthony today? Timothy? The girls?" Jimmy shook his head as he strolled further into the lab. "No doctor, I haven't. Last time I saw them was when they were all in the bull pen. I needed to get Tony's sign off on that report you wanted, but they were busy so I didn't like to interrupt."

Ducky's brow quirked.

"Busy? In what way, busy?

Palmer shrugged as he sunk down into the lab stool opposite. Pulling a stack of reports towards him, he sighed. "Nothing really doctor. Just talking amongst themselves. Something about showing Brent the sights of DC and things like that." Ducky's stomach sank as he digested this. He had quashed his immediate anger with team Gibbs by reminding himself he knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding their odd disappearance. Showing Brent the sights…that sounded bad. That sounded opportunistic and straight up like goofing off. He had sudden fears for his old friend's cardiac health. "I hope they enjoy it," he said with an odd sadness that had Jimmy looking up from his report with a confused expression."

"Well, I don't know to be frank. Tony didn't really seem to want to go, nor did Tim…Ziva either."

Ducky's neck snapped to the side with this information, hope glimmering faintly ahead.

"Oh?" he pressed, not wanting to seem too eager. Jimmy was quite close with Gibbs' brood and if he thought he was going to get them into hot water, he would clam right up. Fortunately, he seemed too engrossed in his work to pay much attention. "Yeah," he mumbled, head back in his file, "The new guy…uhh, Agent Ellis, is it? It seemed to be his idea. Pretty sure he pulled rank on it. Thought I heard Tony saying that Gibbs wouldn't like it, but Agent Ellis didn't seem to mind. I'm sure they're just showing him the pertinent locations across the city. Makes sense for him to have a familiarity."

Ducky stared at the bent over head with eyes widening behind his well worn spectacles.

"Is that right? So, that is to say, you are under the impression….they were following _orders_?"

Jimmy frowned at a blip in his data and nodded absently. "Yes doctor. Sure seemed like it. Agent Ellis seems like a really cool guy though. Probably just wants to break the ice and such like. And they have to do what he says, right?" He sighed in frustration. "Just like I have to spend another day looking at these stupid reports because you say so and…"

His head snapped up.

He blanched.

"What I mean…what I mean to say," He stammered, "it's not that I think they're stupid, I-"

Ducky smiled in sheer relief and held up a silencing hand.

"That is quite alright, Mr Palmer." He stood. "Now, I'll leave you in peace to those stupid reports, I have a few calls to make." He winked. "But if you were to suddenly be called away to a more urgent matter, I would concede that they could wait till tomorrow." Squeezing the surprised Jimmy's shoulder fondly, he strode quickly from the lab, allowing relief to flood him. It wasn't their fault, whatever it was that was happening. They were following Agent Ellis' orders. The merit of those orders could be thrashed out between Brent and Jethro. The team however, had done as they were bid, they had followed orders. Any matter, he thought, how bad could a sightseeing trip be? They were probably just working Brent through strategic local precincts and the like. Maybe they had no service.

Jethro would be so relieved.

And quietly remorseful for his jumping to conclusions. Ducky stepped into the fresh air a moment later as he quietly slipped through a low level exit. Dialling Gibbs' international number with impatience, he sighed when it came back with an engaged tone. He was probably on the phone to the director, shrieking his indignation into her wearied ears. He could be quite the papa bear, could Jethro. Didn't like the idea of someone else ruling in his kingdom. He hung up and tried again, anxious to allay the man's concerns. His team were fine, following orders and being the fine, upstanding young professionals they were.

Gibbs' jaw tightened as he sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand through his hair. The phone was finally ringing and he was hoping against hope he would get an answer. He wasn't used to praying for his second in command to pick up the phone. It was as assumed as breathing air, usually. He'd been gone for two days and the most basic tenant of his leadership had been brutalised. He snarled as the phone rang and rang, refusing to admit his anger was more worry than anything else. He was about to snap the phone shut and try Tim, when it suddenly connected.

"Huu….hello?"

Gibbs tilted his head in confusion.

"Tony?"

Silence.

Some spluttering.

And then more, profound, silence. Gibbs' heartbeat quickened. What if they'd been ambushed?

"DiNozzo? Damnit, Tony, are you there? What the hell is going on back there? Are you ok?"

"Hey….h-hey Boss….how….uhh, how are you doing man….how're you doing?"

Gibbs wasn't surprised by much. But the utterly drunken and utterly chilled out voice of his second command whilst he was AWOL was surprising. He felt his brow knit together painfully as he snapped open his mouth. Before he could answer, another noise took him by supreme surprise. The very obviously drunken and the very obviously hyper squealing of his girls. He'd know that drunken jabber anywhere, he'd heard it enough. Before he could even countenance an answer to that, his younger boy's voice wafted out in the background. "Shh…s-shhhhh you guys….he'll hear….shhhh….."

Gibbs' mouth scraped along the bottom of his new bedroom floor.

His voice was faint, hoarse and oozed with shock.

"What is going on? Tony, you listen to me and you tell me what is going on. Where is Agent Ellis?"

There was another pressing silence for a moment, which was quickly breached by the drunken capering of what appeared to be his entire team. He was about to completely lose it as confusion and unease threatened to engulf him. Tony's voice suddenly wafted through the phone once more. Carefree, drunk as all manner of hell, but carefree nonetheless. It was bamboozling.

"Listen…Boss…..gonna…g-gonna have to call you back later….we're going to a p-party….wish you were here man….."

He chuckled drunkenly for a moment as hyper and inebriated commotion continued to rein behind him.

"Ok...g-gotta go….we ahh….we love you. Chow."

And with that, the call disconnected. Gibbs sat motionless for a long, long time. He was frozen still.

 _We love you?_

…

TBC

….


	36. Out of Bounds

The pain was intolerable. It spread from the tip of his temples to the back of his skull. A dull hammering sensation accompanied the searing pain which was only a side act compared to the deathly rumblings coming from his stomach. He rolled over with a groan and groggily opened his eyes. His screech woke the entire room as he stumbled from the bed in horror. Agent Ellis sleepily stirred at the histrionics. Eying the crumpled mess that was his temporary team draped here, there and everywhere around…what looked like a hotel room, he shrugged. Before promptly flopping back down to the cold side of the pillow, his snores doing little to assuage Tony's migraine. Tim was the next to stir, and he looked like Tony felt. On the far side of the room, in another double bed, Abby and Ziva moved slowly and stiffly, each as pale as the other was green.

"What…what the hell happened?"

McGee's voice was gravelly and confused. Tony merely groaned into his hands as the room began to spin like a demonic carousel. Abby and Ziva were sitting on the side of their bed, looking at each other in nonplussed pain. They were all in the same clothes they'd worn to the office yesterday and the pungent aroma that hung in the air was a testament to that fact. Trying to think, Tony scanned the room but was distracted by the insistent beeping of his cell. Fishing around in his crumpled pants pocket, he pulled it out and quickly learned that it was possible to stand upright with your heart stopped in your chest.

There were missed calls.

There were so many missed calls. There were so many voice messages.

They were from Gibbs. They were from the Director.

The pristine beige piled carpet was suddenly splattered with alcohol pickled vomit. Tim and the girls stared at their SFA in horror as he wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. Memories were coming back, they were flooding back. Calls he'd ignored, calls he'd drunkenly answered. AWOL status fluttering around in the back of his mind as he'd downed shot after shot at one of the most exclusive bars in city. He fought the urge to upend once again as he stared at the once again ringing cell in sickly horror.

He knew better, in the cold light of sobriety ridden day, to ignore this call.

"Boss."

The girls and Tim instantly felt the same urge to vomit as they stared with bulging eyes.

If he thought his headache was bad, he had no idea just how bad it could be. The yelling was to be expected, but it was no less painful. Tony squirmed on the spot as he tried to find the words. Ellis' snoring really wasn't helping matters. Gibbs fired off question after question without waiting for an answer before firing off dire threat after dire threat. Scrunching a hand through his hair as the full weight of their field trip hit home, Tony locked eyes with Tim and saw the despair mirrored there was as pure as he had expected. The yelling was so loud at the end of the one sided conversation that it could be heard without being on speaker.

"You just _wait_ until I get back there, the whole lot of you. Now put that ass Ellis on the line. Now!"

All four's eyes turned to the slumbering Brent in horror.

"Uhh….uhh that might be….uhm…." Tony stuttered, "Boss, he's-"

"I swear to _god_ DiNozzo if you don't do as I say I'm getting the first flight out there. Put him on the phone. I don't care if he's about to give birth, you get him on the damned phone! In the next ten seconds or I hang up and I start making my way out there." Feeling the panic setting in like a viral infection, Tony threw a helpless look at the rest of the team. He moved quickly and shook Brent roughly by the shoulder. The guy jerked away from him. He shook harder and spoke with a low intensity. "Ellis. Agent Ellis….damnit, Gibbs is on the phone and he is….he's _pissed._ He wants to talk to you. Wake up man…c'mon, wake the hell up."

Brent stirred sleepily and to their collective amazement, _chuckled._ Tim felt faint with painful suspense and the girls paled even further. Reaching out, Brent rolled over on his back and plucked the phone out of a shocked Tony's hand. His voice was cheerful, breezy. Suicidal. "Hey hey, Gibbs my man. How's it hanging? You calling to check up on your brood? Not to worry. They're great; you got a great team man. As a matter of fact, we bonded over-"

"I will rip your head off your shoulders and shove it so far up your ass it's gonna pop back onto your shoulders, right before I rip it off your shoulders all over again."

Brent's eyebrows shot up like a rocket. But he didn't get a chance to ask questions.

"I don't know what the hell your angle is and I don't give a damn. What I do give a damn about is I left my team with your sorry ass and in one day you've managed to allow them all to go AWOL. Just what in the hell do you think you're doing? I told Jenny that you weren't ready, especially for _my_ team. You still have diaper rash on your sorry ass. Your career is over, you hear me? You will never have your own team as long as I'm breathing. I don't know what you've done to my people, but I'm sure as hell gonna find out. Unless they tied you up and forced you to do whatever the hell it is you've been doing, you're never going to work in-"

"Agent Gibbs, I think it is me who should be voicing the complaints here, not you."

Brent's mind was working quickly and he swung himself upright, his shirt crumpled around his neck. His carefully cultivated carefree image was slipping fast and was being rapidly replaced with a stony, calculating expression. He'd gone too far, been too rash. He'd tried something new and it was backfiring. He hadn't planned on an overprotective as all hell boss. Clearing his throat, he cast a furtive look around the room and decided on his course of action.

"I'm not gonna keep lying to try and protect them. Your team are a disgrace. I had suggested a little field trip of sorts to get to know them, but _after_ the workday was done. I even phrased it as an order, so the geeky guy from autopsy wouldn't feel left out that he wasn't invited. I was clear on the outing being an after work thing. Sure, I asked them to go on a quick coffee run with me so I could get to know the good joints in the city. Simple, right? But just when I think we're getting close to the coffee place, they pull into a damned bar and go in and get blitzed. I did everything I could. I'm new, you know, not that sure how to handle such insubordination. I decided to stay with them so nothing adverse happened; they were getting so drunk so fast. I even said I was going to call you, but they said you let them blow off steam whenever they needed to, especially when there was no active case. That it was no big deal."

He stole a look around the room and nearly felt sorry for the intense shock and despair he saw there.

Nearly.

"I had to babysit them all night. They're an absolute disgrace. So I don't need you ringing me up to give me an earful. You ought to be focussing your efforts on _them."_ Gone was his drawling accent and in its place was the stiff, clipped tone of a much older, much wiser man. There was someone to be thrown under the bus, and he was damned sure it wasn't going to be him. He was a shrewd man, but he was a weak man and the idea of owning his own actions was something alien to him.

"I'm leaving now. I will never deal with your team again. They're all yours; I don't care what they do in your absence. You can check the video surveillance in the bull pen, it will show that I left with your people in good faith and voluntarily. To the _coffee shop._ What happened after that was something you should really look into. I don't know how you run your team on a day to day basis, but I do know it's not the kind of management style I'm looking to adapt. So, goodbye Agent Gibbs, thank you for a valuable learning experience in how _not_ to run one's people. I'll hand you back to Tony."

He stood with ease and tossed the phone into a gaping DiNozzo's hands.

With a sweeping wink around the room, he crossed it in three strides and was gone before any of them could blink. Looking down at the phone in his hands like it was the most dangerous of bombs; Tony glanced at the other three in pleading desperation. With shaking hands, he put the phone on speaker and placed it on the crumpled sheets. Sucking in a shaking breath, he clutched his hair in desperation and forced words to spill from his mouth.

"Boss. Please, you can't believe anything he just said. That's _not_ what happened. He-"

"I'm on my way back. I will deal with you all when I get there."

The click of the phone hanging up was like gunfire in the deathly silent room.

He was gone.

…

TBC

…


	37. Dad's Home

Hurricanes, twisters and the odd rat infestation had arrived on American soil with more grace than Leroy Jethro Gibbs as he wrenched open the door to NCIS' DC offices. He was tired, haggard and in no frame of mind to be messed with. He took the stairs to his teams' floor two at time, not content in waiting for the elevator. Storming through the double doors, he was greeted with an apprehensive looking Director Jenny Shepherd. She had clearly been expecting him. Shooting her a glare that was in no way conducive to the chain of command, he made to side step her only to find himself effectively blocked. "You need to calm down and listen to me, Jethro," she instructed quietly, in that maddening "you're being unreasonable" tone that he hated so damned much. "There are things you don't know." Snorting like a bullock on meth, Gibbs shook his head angrily. "Save it, Jen. I don't want to hear whatever BS excuses they've fed you. You should never have brought in a greenhorn to cut his teeth with my team in the first place. I told you, but you wouldn't listen and now look what they've gone and pulled. Just _look…._ "

Jenny waited the tirade out with the patience of experience.

"Are you done?"

He growled.

"I haven't even started. I am going to kill them one by one. Slowly and painfully."

She shot him such a quailing glare that even in his state of agitation he had the sense to tone it down a notch, but just a notch. "Jethro, like I said, there are things you need to know. Follow me? I don't need someone to burst into this stairwell and see your histrionics, I have enough HR complaints about you to last a life time." Rolling his eyes at her when her back was turned, Gibbs trudged grudgingly behind her slim back that was rigid with ire of her very own. No matter how many years passed and no matter how high she climbed the ladder, she would never fully see him as her subordinate and that irritated her. A fact of which he was well aware and enjoyed needling her with. She would always be his probie and they both knew it. She opened the door to her office, exchanging exasperated looks with the long suffering Cynthia, and ushered a stalking Gibbs through it. She had barely snapped it shut when his anger spilled over once again.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous I looked telling the operation leader that I had to go home because my team couldn't be _handled?_ I told you Jen, I told you. You wouldn't leave a rabbit in charge of a lion's den, but that's exactly what you did. You put a know-nothing imbecile in charge of my people when I explicitly told you it would end in disaster and look where we are now, disaster town. Population: five. Myself and those four…those four…" he trailed off, weariness dogging him as he slumped into the chair in front of the impressive desk. "I don't even have words for what those four are right now. I could string them up. And Tony? I am going to kill him, in cold blood. You put your blood, sweat and tears into training your right hand man and he burns the house down the minute you're out the friggin door…"

For the first time, Jenny felt a stab of sympathy for her old boss.

He looked absolutely exhausted.

"It wasn't their fault Jethro, you're right, it was mine." Glancing up from the floor, Gibbs gaped slightly. Jenny was many things, but forthcoming when it came to admitting her own mistakes she was not. Before he could accuse of her lying to protect his team, she cut across him. "As it turns out, Agent Ellis was responsible for the entire AWOL incident. He forced your team to abscond from duty and then tried to cover it up by blaming them and skipping town. I've been on the phone for the last day or so that you've been travelling and it turns out…his record his actually far from sparkling. Suffice it to say, he is never going to be a team-leader. I knew he was young but I thought his attitude would overcome that, but I was wrong. I left your team with an under qualified, inexperienced and as it turns out, cowardly agent. And for that, and that alone, I…apologise."

She could practically see his tonsils as he gaped at her.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, recovering quickly. "Do you expect me to believe that they were unwilling participants in their little binge? Have you met my people, Jen? They're not exactly the unwilling sort." Jenny shook her head, sitting down and leaning back in her chair tiredly. "Ellis ordered them to do it. Said he wanted to be shown the sights and then dragged them into a bar and the rest is history I suppose. He pulled rank, Jethro. Tony argued with him, said you wouldn't like it and he was shut down. You told them in no uncertain terms that they were to do as Ellis told them, or else. So that's what they did, they did what he told them to do. I don't see how the blame can be levelled at them, not this time."

Gibbs stared.

"But…how do you know all this? If Ellis did a runner, whose word are you basing this upon? Because let me tell you Jen, they might not lie to me but if they thought lying to _you_ would save their skins…those four would sing like canaries." She glared then, piercing him with her stare. "You may be their immediate supervisor and their apparent God, Jethro, but make no mistake. I am their boss' boss and none of them are imbecilic enough to lie to me. And I could tell if they were, I _did_ used to be a pretty good field agent you know." He smiled then, unable to help himself. "I know," he said softly, the implied apology flitting loosely between the words, "You…were one of the best. I will always give you that, Jen, always."

She flushed furiously, the rare praise still as coveted as ever.

"Yes, well," she bustled, "That as may be, the point remains the same. You jumped to the same conclusions that I did and now we're left in the position of being rather red faced. Your team is a ball of nerves. I have told them I believed them and that there would be no official sanctions for going off book. But I got the distinct impression they didn't give a rat's behind about that, all they care about is whether or not _you_ are going to believe them and the very strong consensus is, that you are not, and they are all….to quote Agent DiNozzo, _deader than the dead that died before death was a thing."_ She shook her head bemusedly. "He's pretty unusual, isn't he?"

Gibbs raised his brows slowly.

"You have no idea."

He fell silent then, thoughtful. Guilt was quickly beginning to trickle through him and he sighed miserably. He had jumped the gun. He should have known better. True, he would never have envisaged an aspiring team-lead to be so…sleazy, but still, he should have known better. He _had_ warned them to do everything the guy said and he could see why they would take that literally, he was a literal kind of guy. He instantly caught a glimpse into the inside of Tony's head and knew that the kid was probably still beating himself up, before waiting for him to come in and finish the job. Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes he groaned. "Made a right mess of this one, Jen," he muttered quietly, "I shouldn't have jumped down Tony's throat." A sudden memory of the message he'd asked Duck to relay to Tony sizzled at the corners of his brain and the guilt suddenly skyrocketed.

 _Tell Tony that my garden is doing well this year._

He closed his eyes in despair. How could he have been so brash? He'd been doing such a good job in keeping his temper more in check these days and the minute it was really tested, he'd lost it. Tony would have been working himself up more and more with every passing second, visualising being made to make good on a long ago threat. He'd never really intended to make the kid go and cut a switch, never mind use it on him, but it had seemed like a good deterrent at the time. But he'd been angry enough when he'd learned of their absconding, that he very much meant to follow through on that threat in the heat of the moment.

Jenny looked at him with undisguised sympathy.

"I think they've been waiting long enough to see you, Jethro. I believe they are all in the bull-pen, even Abby. Tony didn't have the heart to keep her separated from the rest of them and allowed her to work files in the office. You should go to them now. How you choose to deal with the situation…is up to you. I am not going to interfere. You do what you think you need to do. They're your team and in future, if you have to go on an overseas op…they're sure as hell going with you. I don't need this aggravation in my agency." She picked up a thick stack of files then, effectively dismissing him. "Go see to your ducklings Jethro, they don't do well out of your nest." Rolling his eyes and standing with a sudden purpose, Gibbs nodded and without another word swept from the room. The nervousness, regret and anticipation hit him like a brick wall as he strode, unseen, into the bullpen.

"Conference Room. The four of you. Now."

Tony, who had been making an elastic band ball nearly fell out of his seat as he jumped clean into the air. Tim, who had been anxiously coding, spluttered on the oxygen that stagnated in his windpipe. Ziva, as per her custom, did not react only to flinch so minutely it was undetectable. Abby, for her part, instantly felt tears spring up in her eyes that she couldn't control. Gibbs didn't wait to see would he be obeyed, and was standing with the Conference Room door ajar by the time the four slowly trooped up to meet their fate. When they'd filed in, he shut the door softly behind him and saw that they'd lined up already, none of them meeting his eye. Tony was positioned unconsciously in front of Ziva, his protective streak shining through. As too was Tim, but with Abby. Gibbs eyed them all for a moment, before clearing his throat and landing in front of them in a drill sergeants pose.

"Eyes up."

It was a simple command, but one would think he'd demanded the reinvention of the wheel such was the time and effort it took for obedience. He opened his mouth then, but was suddenly gazumped as Tony could simply not restrain himself. "Boss," he all but hollered, "You have got to listen to me. I know you're mad and I know you're going to kill me and no one is ever going to find my body and that's fine, but _please,_ you gotta listen. This is all my fault. I should have told that maniac to take a running jump, but I didn't. I was the second in command and I blew it. I really, really blew it. This isn't their fault. They were following my lead. I know I let you down Boss and I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm really, really sorry. But please…don't punish them for what I did, for what I led them into. This is entirely on me and I'm the only one you should be giving a hiding to. Not them."

Gibbs stared for the longest moment, pride burning within him. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

"No one is getting a hiding. Not even you, Tony. Not today."

They may as well have been quadruplets then, such was their matching expressions of shock. Before any of them could interrupt, Gibbs held up a hand and took a deep, deep breath. This was going to be hard as hell. "I jumped to conclusions," he admitted simply. "I should have known better than to think that any of you would willingly do what was done and I shouldn't have lost my cool the way I did. I warned you that you were all to do exactly what Ellis told you to do and that is what you did. I should have remembered that, and I didn't." He closed his eyes and forced himself to do the unthinkable. "And for that, I'm… sorry. You have my word that it won't happen again." He opened his eyes to find expressions that wouldn't have been out of place on discovering a chain of Wendy's on Mars. "That being said, I should have been called when this all went belly up. One of you should have called me. And for that, yes, you're in trouble. But only for that. Now like I said, no one is getting a sore behind for this but I think one weeks confinement for the whole lot of you, with no cells, will reinforce the value of treating freedom wisely and how useful technology can be."

He held out his hand.

"Hand them over. You have pagers for work and you will use them and them alone for the next week. Those fancy doo-dah's you've all got are going into lock up and you'll get them back in seven days time. During those seven days, you all come here and you all go home. Nowhere in between and so help me god if any of you defy me on that." He crooked his outstretched hand. "Cells, four of them, now." There was a stunned silence for a moment, before a mass exodus of technology. Stuffing two cells apiece into his pockets, Gibbs nodded in satisfaction. "There's no point in being the boss if you can't break your own rules now and then, so I'm paroling you all to my place tonight, one night only. Boys', you bring the food. Girls', the movies. Is that clear?"

Wide grins suddenly broke out and four heads nodded in tandem.

Rolling his eyes at how annoyingly happy those toothy smiles made him, Gibbs waved to the door.

"Good. Now go on and get out of here and back to work before I change my mind and whoop you all into next week." Beaming, Abby bounced over on the balls of her feet and took his breath away with her traditional bear hug. "I knew you'd believe us," she squeaked. Tony and Tim exchanged exasperated looks. "That's not what you were saying last night," Tim mumbled under his breath, to Tony's agreeing snort. Kissing Ziva gently on the head, Gibbs shooed her out with McGee close on her heels, receiving a quick squeeze to his shoulder as he went. The sounds of their disappearing chattering were jovial as Tony made to exit, however, the door was suddenly blocked with a Gibbs like barrier and the second in command couldn't help the gulp that resonated in his windpipe.

"This the part where you kill me and make sure no one ever finds my body?"

Gibbs couldn't help but grin as he rapped the kid lightly round the head.

"Nope, but it's good to know that you know I could." He hesitated for a moment. "Tony…about what Ducky told you…" the guilt was clear upon his face and the younger man looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about, Boss? Ducky didn't tell me anything, I've barely seen him since you've been gone." A huge wave of relief crushed Gibbs in that moment and he smiled freely. At least the kid hadn't been working himself into a state of fear for the last day or so, expecting a switching that Gibbs never expected to give him. "I must be losing it in my old age, that plus the travel and I don't know what I said to who," he deflected casually. "Go on then, get back to work. And…Tony? Don't forget. This wasn't your fault and I don't blame you. So quit blaming yourself. You got it?"

Smiling widely, Tony nodded.

"Got it, Boss. See you tonight! I hope you like pizza baked in pizza, cos that's what's on the menu."

Gibbs grimaced.

"Sounds great."

Chuckling, Tony nodded and sidestepping the elder agent, made his way down to the bullpen. As he took the stairs two at a time, he mentally erased the message Ducky had given him and the puddle of fear evaporated in his chest. He'd been up half the night wondering how he was going to survive being made to cut and receive his own switch, having had no issue in deciphering Gibbs' cryptic threat. He should have known that the old man only left the message in anger, which is why he played dumb about receiving it. Gibbs might think he was an emotional mute, but he was way easier to read then he thought. To him anyway. To someone who knew he was as flawed as they came but cared as deeply as one could. No need in making him feel any guiltier than he already did. Not that Gibbs would ever admit to feeling guilty. Or admit to having feelings full stop.

Those were for mere mortals.

…..

A/N: Question. I've been warming up to Ellie Bishop (Slowly, very slowly) and was wondering whether you guys' would like to see her in a fic? Maybe not this one because I'd have to write off Ziva, but in another, stand-alone one? Let me know!

_Inks

….


	38. Finale

Gibbs stared at the tickets in his hand and felt his stomach sink. Looking up at the four identical expressions of pleading excitement, he felt it sink even further. "No," he said quietly, "Guys, it's not happening. I know that's not what you want to hear, but there's nothing I can do about it. You know I can't approve leave on a second's notice, especially not for an entire MCRT. It's not workable; you'll have to see if you can get a refund on all of these…" His stomach jumped down another three or four steps at the crestfallen looks that stared back at him. Jones, the team-lead of an intel based team, walked past with a smirk. "You upset your puppies again, Gibbs? They'll learn to bite you know, as they get older." Letting out a small snarl at his retreating back, the beleaguered Jethro sighed and scrubbed a hand across his tired eyes. He purposefully avoided looking at Abby, knowing whatever resolve he was clinging to, would be lost.

Instead, he focussed on Tony.

"DiNozzo. Get on to these uhh…these ticket people, and see if you can swap these for an open ended pass type situation. Alright? Then you can all go some other time, _when you've applied for leave in the way you know you're meant to apply for leave."_ With that, he handed back the tickets with a brusque nod and left the bull pen in desperate search of coffee. Taking his sweet time in returning, he worked hard on putting back on his game face. He would die under interrogation before admitting it, but he would have given anything to say _sure, go ahead, go and have fun_ to the pleading quad, but he couldn't. How the hell could he? They were the top MCRT in the DC area. They couldn't just up and leave when it suited. He pushed aside Tony's insistences that the MCRT headed up by Matthews, had offered to swap their weeks leave in return for his team taking on-call duty for their month, which was fine by the Director. It wasn't that he didn't trust Matthews' team, they were good, but they weren't as good as his team.

And they had just closed a case he felt in his gut wasn't really closed.

He hoped fervently that by the time he got back, the four of them would have moved on and Tony would've secured a refund, or whatever. His hopes were short lived and in hindsight, exceedingly foolish. If anything, when he returned, the situation was even worse. Abby was thankfully gone, but the looks on his boys' and Ziva's faces were even sadder than before. Tightening his jaw and feigning utter indifference, Gibbs strode to his desk and barked orders relating to the closing of the case that was eating at him. Moving slowly and sombrely, just to bug the ever loving life out of him, his team grudgingly got to work. Sighing, he slapped his own computer into action, irritated by how pathetically bad he felt. He was getting soft, he concluded grimly, soft and senile. A few years ago and he would have slapped them silly for daring to ask and now, now _he_ felt bad about being utterly unable to meet their unrealistic demands.

The day passed in a haze of puppy dog eyes and wounded expressions.

Gibbs had never been happier to escape the office. Calling an abrupt halt to proceeding at six, positively a half day for his team, he left before the rest of them and hightailed it to his car. After stopping at the store just long enough to grab a bottle of bourbon, he had changed into his trademark red sweatshirt and jeans when he finally began to relax. Throwing the nails out of the nearest mason jar, he had unscrewed the beautiful bottle of amber liquid when he heard the front door open and a thundering pack of footsteps above his head. Closing his eyes, he felt exasperation burst within him; he just wasn't meant to have a shred of piece in these twenty four hours. Screwing the bottle closed again, he leant over the workbench and waited for the inevitable stampede to burst right through the barriers of his unofficial man cave.

It was them.

All… _four_ of them.

He barely suppressed a squawk of indignation, replacing it instead with a stern look of warning that he was so tired as to barely manage. "Stop it. Hold it right there. If you four are here to whine about that damned holiday, I am telling you here and now, I am in no mood. I put up with your silent treatment and sulking at the office, but I will not put up with it here. You're all barely off being grounded and I have no hesitation in revoking that status, or worse. Are you hearing me?" He glowered offensively, wiping his hands on his work cloth. "Am I making myself clear?" Ziva looked to Abby, who looked to Tim, who looked to Tony, who sighed and threw his eyes up to heaven. "Gee, Boss…that's not exactly a warm city welcome now is it?" Gibbs' quailing look of tired warning had him holding his hands up defensively. "Alright, alright? We are here about the holiday, but-"

"For the love of Jesus," Gibbs growled in interruption, "What did I _just_ say?"

"That you put up with our silent treatment and sulking in the office, but you won't put up with it here. We're all barely off being grounded and you have no hesitation in revoking that status, or worse and are we hearing you, and have you made yourself clear?" Tony repeated sycophantically, with a cheeky grin spreading across his face. Gibbs spluttered in outrage and moved forward to deliver the mother of all head slaps before Tim wisely interceded. "What Tony is _trying_ to say, Boss, is that we have a proposition for you." He smiled and Gibbs' radar was instantly on high alert. "But we have to come clean first; we need to tell you something that we've done…" Groaning, a suddenly exhausted Jethro pulled out a wooden stood and slumped down on it, rubbing his eyes in utter chagrin, not wanting to know what he was about to be told, but knowing he wouldn't rest until he did.

"Just say it fast, for the love of…just say it fast. Like a Band-Aid."

Abby grinned and bounced on the balls of her feet. "Those tickets? For that sun holiday we were talking about? They may not have been strictly kosher…uhh, they may actually be very good forgeries, the author of which will remain unnamed." She backed up a little as Gibbs' head shot up and his gaze narrowed. "There was a very good reason behind said artistic licence. We…we were trying to get you to…" She faltered under his burning gaze, and looked to Ziva for assistance, who picked up the mantel with stoic ease. "We wanted you to come with us to a one week break to Mexico. With Mike, he is expecting us. But we knew you would never come if we presented it to you like this, so we thought you would say yes to just us going on holiday. Which would mean you would be on holiday from work and be free to come with us. There is a ticket booked in your name. But you said no, so now we are…here. In this situation. I guess."

There was a pressing silence as they stared at Gibbs, and he at them.

"Boss…" Tony broke in, hesitantly. "It's been a long, long time since any of us have had a break. And I mean even by our standards, it's been a long time. And well… we got talking about vacations and stuff one night at the bar after work and we realised that…well, that none of us really have any family to go with. Other than uhmm…" he reddened and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Other than this one…but it didn't seem right to go without you. I mean none of us wanted to go…without you. And we know how much you love Mexico, and it's been awhile since you've seen Mike so it just seemed…it just seemed like a good idea…at the time." He silenced himself then, glancing sideways at the other three for support, embarrassed by his openness. Tim came to his aid. "It was all of our idea," he said hastily, "Not just Tony's, you can't blame him." He swallowed nervously as Gibbs merely continued to stare blankly. "Are you mad?"

The supportive nods of the other three reinforced the tentative question and Gibbs slowly rose.

Crossing the distance between them, he crooked a finger at Tony. "Come here," he ordered quietly. To his credit, save for a slight gulp, his right hand man didn't delay or backtrack. As he stopped short in front of him, he waited nervously as his boss considered him. When the hand eventually reached out, he braced himself for a searing headslap. Instead, the light punch on his shoulder was positively avuncular. Speaking lowly, just so that Tony could hear, Gibbs said something that made the younger man's face light up. Smiling his crooked smile at the sight, the eldest of the five crooked a finger next to Tim, who landed beside Tony with equal nervousness. Reaching out once more, and seeing the bracing grimace, Gibbs chuckled as he merely ruffled Tim's hair affectionately. "Come here, girls," he called quietly, completing the line up in front of him. pressing a kiss to each of their heads and then stepping back, he cleared his throat.

Not because it was constricting or anything, just because he wanted to.

"What usually happens when you four skirt around my back and plan things that I don't know about?"

Four faces fell.

He waited, with an arched brow. He was ambushing them, and he knew it.

"Answer me."

Tony swallowed, but as usual, he rose to the occasion.

"You kill us."

Biting his lip to hide the amused smirk that threatened, Gibbs nodded solemnly. Letting the pressure mount to volcanic eruption levels, he lingered his gaze over each of them in turn, seeing their pained shuffling sky rocket. "The last time you lied to me, planned things that I didn't know about and tried to trick me into going along with something I didn't know about, I tanned your behinds for you. And I recall then, telling you in no uncertain terms, that it would be ten times worse the next time you did it. And here we are, at the next time you've done it. So where do you think that leave us? What do you four think is going to happen now?" Four sets of eyes widened in misery so acute, he couldn't keep it up any longer. His face suddenly split into a grin. "It leaves us in a situation whereby even the very best of us, AKA me, have to eat our words sometimes. Thanks…you lot, you've got your heads about as screwed on as I could hope for. Can't say I'm a willing participant, but yeah…maybe we could all do with a break…even me."

He stepped forwards then and rapidly pulled them one by one, into a quick hug, before beaming.

"Damn, I can't wait to back to the Cantina." He winked at Tony and Tim. "There's this waitress there boys', I swear she's-"

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed in indignation, to Ziva's supporting nod. "Don't be so objectifying!"

Grinning apologetically, he shrugged.

"Don't worry, there's a few very handsome boys' there too, you'll…" his face fell, his stomach sinking as his two girls' exchanged happily calculating looks. "No no," he blurted out, "Those boys are _off limits._ They're way too old…and tanned." He shook his head all the more vigorously when Tony and Tim burst into laughter at the devilish expressions on Abby and Ziva's faces. "I'm serious," he growled. "They're nowhere near good enough. One of them has his _nipple_ pierced for the love of…now you listen to me you two; you're not to talk to them, or look at them. In fact, I'm bringing my gun. That's settled. The gun is coming with me."

His stomach sank even further as the girls' joined in with the boys' laughter.

He was struck by sudden inspiration and shrugged with a smirk.

"Fine, go on and do things I won't like. Just bear in mind who we're staying with. You think I'm a hard ass? Wait until you're living under Mike Franks' roof. Especially when he has my full approval to deal with you all in the same manner I would myself." The laughter instantly ceased and as Gibbs set off upstairs to get drinks with a smirk, he distinctly heard the whispered and frantic _"he's joking right?"_ and " _he wouldn't do that to us, right?"_ Pausing on the step that always creaked; he cleared his throat and shouted down the stairs with more than just a hint of mirth in his voice.

"No, he's really not joking and yes, he really would do that to you."

…..

A/N: Final chapter guys! Decided to leave this one here, I feel it's run its course! I don't think I'll be writing another "NCIS whole team/multichapter fic" like this again, so a huge thanks to all the feedback on this one! I really appreciate it, truly. I hope you all enjoyed this, decided to end it on a fluffy note simply because I unashamedly love fluffy team Gibbs.

Till next time!

_Inks

….


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